


Surrendering One’s Madness In Gotham City

by WolfBook04



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: But maybe not the most healthy one either, F/M, Frustrations with bureaucracy, Improvised weapons, Not an abusive relationship, Rooftop fighting, Slight masterbation reference, Some one-sided roughhousing, When internships go wrong, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfBook04/pseuds/WolfBook04
Summary: Intern Dr. Harleen Quinzel is given an ultimatum that will change her life. No one had to drag her along, she went ahead skipping.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 29
Kudos: 46





	1. Graduation Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I plan on posting pretty frequently. Enjoy!

I focused on not tripping on any part of the cracked and uneven pavement of Arkham Asylum’s vast employee parking lot for the millionth time. The lot was surrounded by a seven-foot high fence and cyclone wire with bits of trash from the surrounding Narrows gathering along the bottom. I’d been working as an intern for a whole year as of that day, but expected no one to remember. I nodded to the security officers Bolton and Mendez as I scanned my badge into the building. They said nothing. No one else on the staff said anything as I strode to my office; really a former meds supply closet at the end of the hallway where everyone else had their office. The optimistic side of my brain told me that they were probably all too busy, but the more realistic side said no one had expected me to be there that long. It was hard for the Asylum to get an intern or for an intern to stay more than six to eight months and most of the staff didn’t bother learning anyone’s names until then.

But Dr. Leland—Joan—came up to me in the breakroom that smelled of stale coffee no matter if a new pot had been made or not. She slipped a caramel chocolate bar with a card in a blue envelope near my elbow. I slipped it into my coat pocket before anyone else could see and make a snide comment on whether or not I really needed that chocolate bar.

She said as she sat down, “I was going to wish you a Happy Graduation, Harleen, but I heard a rumor just before I left last night that Arkham wants to talk to you.”

I let out a sigh as I glanced at the ceiling. “I just hope it’s not about my internship. I’m doing the work… good work, I might add. Why can’t they see that?”

Joan let out a slow sigh. “We’ve been over this. If you just keep your head down, you can make good use of that last, big stipend check and get out of this city and go be the most helpful doctor literally anywhere else.”

I shrugged as I muttered, “I don’t see why I just can’t do that now.” Joan gave my arm a small pat before standing and declaring she had a few patients to see. I saw her point in keeping my head down, as I technically had three more months left of my internship left to finish getting all the hours that I needed. But I didn’t want to overlook anyone who needed help just because other doctors liked to rush through things.

I had a few patients of my own to see. Alyssa was checking out later that afternoon into her parents’ care. 

“You’re after care plan is in place. 2500 milligrams of Depakote and you’re going to need to have lab tests every other week to monitor that. You’ll also need a med check in six months to see if you can decrease that to 1500 milligrams. It looks like you already have an outside therapist in place to see them twice a week. And…. Everything else looks good.” I looked up from the files to see her smiling face. “If things progress as they are, you could maybe think about going back to college part time in the fall or next spring.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Dr. Quinzel.” She said, “I don’t know what I’d be doing if you hadn’t taken my case. Probably still napping a ton.”

“What makes you think that?” I asked as I closed her file.

“When I first got here, they kept telling me that my bipolar disorder was because my mom remarried and that was supposed to bug me. But my step-dad drove me here. He was the one that noticed something was off. Honestly… you’re one of the best doctors here.”

I remembered wishing her luck and smiling back, but had no recollection on how I got back to my office until I was sitting at my desk, meaning to enter Alyssa’s last session notes into the computer. My gaze fixed on the cinder block wall painted a light gray shade of blue. There was a culture of relying on heavy doses and making a knee-jerk prognosis. Very few people seemed to listen and it wasn’t unheard of to overhear a doctor in the lounge or the breakroom talking horribly about one of their patients.

An IM ping startled me out of my daze. There was a message from Dr. Arkham asking to see me right away. I let out a sigh. Probably better just to get whatever lecture he had in mind over with so I could finish my notes before my next patient.

Dr. Arkham’s office was the largest on the floor above everyone else’s and had been the office of his great-grandfather, the founder. I let out a breath before walking past the frosted glass door labeled “director” and waited for his receptionist Margie to get off the phone. 

“He’s just waiting inside, Dr. Quinzel.” She said and went back to her computer as if mentioning anything to me was trivial. 

Still, I knocked and Dr. Arkham looked up from a few files piled onto his desk, his cold blue eyes stared right through me. “Ah, yes. Please have a seat Dr. Quinzel. I’ll be with you in just a short moment.” He craned his pineapple shaped head down to his desk and I smothered a sigh.

There were two huge bookcases behind his desk on each side of the wall filled with books. I wondered how many of them were now out of date until Dr. Arkham cleared his throat.

“I have to say Dr. Quinzel that while we’ve found your work here to be commendable, there are some on the staff who find themselves... alienated by your methods. I don’t mean any offence, doctor, but your treatment methods have caused quite a bit of tension amongst the senior staff who have crafted a steadier pace in treating our patients. But peace can be restored if you’re willing to help out in another area for you last three months with us.”

I’d been aware that others held me in contempt for not falling into the asylum’s culture of complacency, but I found myself sitting up a little straighter.

“Yes, of course. I’m willing to help where I can.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Arkham patted the stack of files in front of him. “As you know, patient 484479— called The Joker by the press— hasn’t spoken to anyone. No one’s been able to be his therapist for more than a few sessions and we need to be able to build a strong case that leaves no doubt of insanity for his trial this September. If you just gave a few sessions that will be monitored, we could overlook your past over enthusiasm.”

My stomach knotted as he talked. “But... I currently only have security clearance for the minimum security and mid-level floors?”

He waved his hand at me as if he were some benevolent monarch clearing an obstacle. “Yes, we’d give you special dispensation for this one patient. You’d meet in one of the mid-level treatment rooms that would be blocked off for this sole purpose. If you were to refuse, we might have to rethink you’re future here at Arkham Asylum, doctor. Would that be an issue?”

And there it was. My helpful work smile stretched into a faded, half-rictus expression of wanting to stay employed. But inside, I was an inferno. How dare he? I had nowhere else to go and he knew it. I hadn’t seen my parents since I was eighteen, on the day I left for college. I had grown distant from my old friends and hadn’t dated since my first year of grad school. I applied for other jobs while I still went to my doctoral-level classes that had a cold and toxic atmosphere, but the country was in the middle of a recession. My classmates all struggled to find internships and I landed at Arkham because no one else wanted to go. There would be nothing else. I had nothing else. I had to do this. 

I straightened my back even further as I smiled and made direct eye contact with the dipshit that was putting my life in danger. “It would be no problem at all, Dr. Arkham.”

He blinked, surprised that I actually agreed. “Ha! Excellent. I’ll give you the rest of the day off to prepare as all these files have already been uploaded to the file cloud and you start sessions at ten tomorrow morning.” Before I could ask about my other patients, he said, “And don’t worry about your case load, Dr. Quinzel. They’ll be in the competent hands of your colleagues.” 

I didn’t believe that last sentence for a second. He sent me a link to the cloud where the files were stored. I was going to have to call him something else other than patient 484479—another thing to think on later. I scurried back to my office to get the rest of my things, hoping to dodge everyone’s glare, knowing how fast word tended to spread. 

Dr. Gnawbock stared at me from outside her office, her thin mouth pinched even further as she squinted at me. A petty section of my brain wondered if her tight hair bun prevented any empathy from circulating. “I hope you appreciate that we’re taking on your case load while that monster gets another round of therapy. You better get some results, doctor.”

I didn’t dignify that with a head nod, shake, or anything. It’s not like I had a huge caseload to begin with, just averaging five patients at a time. I just kept walking to my office and grabbed my purse and my keys. My hands shook and I swore under my breath as I shook them out.

At the guard’s booth on my way out, Bolton raised an eyebrow as he took my badge to start updating the security. “You better watch yourself in there, Dr. Quinzel. He’s more of a monster than a human being.”

“Yeah, so I keep hearing.” I muttered as Menendez shook his head.

“Damn shame. They should just keep him locked up so he doesn’t hurt any more people.”

I thanked them both and strode out faster to my car than I’d walked in that morning. The sun burned bright as my hands scrambled to get my sunglasses out of their holder. I took in a deep slow breath and let it out just as slow. I needed to go home and get to work. Of course, I couldn’t help but seethe most of the way home. They meant to scared me into following their culture of complacency and this could’ve only backfire in some spectacular fashion. I shivered as I hoped it wouldn’t mean me getting killed. I hated the growing knot of fear and weakness growing in my stomach. I hated that feeling because it always came up when I didn’t have a lot of options, when I needed to think of something fast for my own survival.


	2. Preparing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, what a week! This chapter is a bit short, but the next one will be a lot longer, I promise.

My apartment’s rent was subsidized by the asylum as one of my benefits, not that it was really needed as rent in Gotham ran a bit cheap. No one wanted to live in the most dangerous city in America for very long. I couldn’t argue with the rent or the subsidy, as there was no way I could’ve otherwise afforded 1200 square foot apartment all to myself on the fourteenth floor with underground parking and security on minimal pay back in Chicago. I walked into the small entryway and threw my keys onto the kitchen counter before glancing at my living room nook. One wall had a wide picture window that looked out over the rest of the south end of midtown. The back of the living room tapered off to the hallway, where I kept my home office in the smaller bedroom. 

I rolled my eyes as I logged in on my laptop, as a particularity lazy hacker or disgruntled guard or nurse could’ve figured out what the password was and upload the files to the Internet in under an hour. It was Arkham’s own birthday and his ex-wife’s initials. She left him and then he finally noticed she’d been there at all. I started to go through the uploaded files from the GCPD and the state psychologist. The files were about his first appearances and crimes, his subsequent evaluation from the state psychologist when he first arrived at Arkham, and all the different sessions run by nearly the entire staff. 

The one consistent thing that stood out in all the files was that everyone asked him the same questions over and over: his name, his scars, why he did what he did, trying to ask about his past, or where he came from. The only concession to modern technology during treatments at the asylum was that any recorded sessions were uploaded along with any files to the cloud.

My resolve to do this right wavered as I watched the first few sessions. The energy he projected was palpable as he glared at whoever interviewed him. His hair was still green and most of the face paint was gone except for a few black streaks near his eyes. His back was hunched as his focus narrowed, as if he readied to launch his whole body at those early interviewers. Eventually, his posture relaxed into something resembling boredom and the green faded away as the videos and time went on. Only once in a while did he break out in one of his media-famous, cackling laughs when the therapist asked a stupid question about his suit. Of course he wasn’t just going to buy it at any store.

By the time Dr. Gnawbock interviewed him, he was nearly slumped over, his body weight resting against his right forearm. I paused the video to look at what his medication dosage was at that time and my eyebrows shot up my forehead. Were they just hoping to drug him into eventual compliance? Maybe if they checked each other’s notes first instead of asking the same thing over and over, someone could’ve made some headway eight months later.

By the time Dr. Arkham himself interviewed him, I rolled my eyes as he told the Joker with he understood that he liked to make bombs and the Joker snarled as he said, “Obviously.”

“Well, with time here, hopefully you’ll learn not to do that again.”

I dragged my hands over my face and screamed into them. How was the Joker not strangling Arkham’s ex-football player neck at that moment? 

My phone rang and LELAND popped up on the screen. I paused the video and scrambled to pick it up.

“I took a half day, so I’m free to vent.” She said. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Arkham had no business tossing you into this. By the time I heard, you were already gone for the day. If I knew, I would’ve said something at least.”

I shrugged. “It was this or loosing my stipend. And I don’t think I’d find another job any time soon.” I left out the factor of having no other place to go. “I noticed you weren’t on the gauntlet for treating the Joker.”

Joan let out a tired sigh. “Arkham never asked. Never offered a reason why not either.”

“But you should be the one pouring over his files. You’ve got fifteen years of experience on me. You could be practicing psychology anywhere else in the country instead of this sinkhole.”

She broke into a light laugh. “Hey, I grew up in this sinkhole and I’ve always wanted to make it better. And don’t let Arkham hear you say that, the son of a bitch might’ve thought you were trying to get out of it and tried to fire you anyway. I’ve seen him do that for a lot less, Harleen. The best thing is to just get through these sessions and take care of yourself until they feel they made their point and move you back to your regular caseload.”

I promised her that I would take care of myself before she hung up. The issue seemed huge, but so, so simple. No one tried to do anything different because no one thought he was worth the effort. Not that I thought I was going to save him or cure him, but at the very least I could’ve applied an effort that no one else seemed to put out.

My limbs felt cramped and antsy at the same time, so I closed out of the cloud, locked my laptop in my desk’s drawer, and headed to the gym. Once there, I burned off my excess energy with a round on the step machine followed by some kettlebell weights followed by walking around the track a few times. I was on a waiting list for a new gymnastics’ class for adults, but it seemed like they couldn’t find an instructor. The only other downside was that it was impossible to talk to anyone, as everyone else wanted to stay in their own little worlds; so I listened to music as I worked out anyway.

Dinner was Thai takeout and a bottle of Merlot waiting for me back home. I set aside extra for lunch the next day and as I watched the news it’d been quiet, for once. Sleep was evasive as I flip-flopped and every muscle seemed to be unable to unclench.


	3. Under Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s building up now! (And yes, I named this chapter after the David Bowie/Queen pop song of power.)

I jerked awake to the alarm of gentle chimes on my cell phone and couldn’t recall when I’d fallen asleep. My hands shook as I buttoned up my gray blouse. I stopped when I noticed that I had to fix a few misaligned buttons that made gaps in my shirt. I shook my hands out as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.

I said, “I love you, but stop being a dumbass.”

I didn’t remember much of my drive into work, except trying to eat a granola bar at stoplights. Once outside my winter-beater car that I’d bought during my first month in Gotham and was almost more rust than steel, I shuffled my feet fast while standing in place to burn off some more excess energy before walking inside. None of the guards, nurses, or even the other doctors seemed to have picked up on my nervousness. Yet. Once in my office, I told myself in a hushed whisper to knock it off, that even if no one else had noticed, my new patient would be able to tell.

My footsteps seemed to echo louder than usual as I headed to the third floor treatment rooms. Everyone seemed to know as nurses and doctors alike glanced up as they noticed me walking by. I took in a deep breath and let it out before entering the observation room that was separated from the therapy room by a wide pane of a one-way mirror. 

Dr. Arkham made himself stand taller as Joan told him this was a bad idea. My stomach sank that she was risking herself for me when this was my fight. They hadn’t even noticed that I’d entered the room.

“She’s not ready, Dr. Arkham. Even though she’s enthusiastic, she’s still too new to the field. It’s a liability issue. If anyone found out, the press or the board would…”

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that you feel that I’m being unfair and wanting to stretch our intern’s professional growth. But a more aware staff member would probably exercise discretion and keep their opinions to themselves to avoid being terminated.”

Joan blinked and shook her head a bit as she took a step back, as if he’d slapped her. A swirl of anger rushed through me and I flexed my fists closed tight and opened. This was a feeling I always had to manage since elementary school, to avoiding jumping into trouble. I cleared my own throat and they turned to me, startled.

“I’m ready to start.” I said, keeping my focus tight on Arkham and hoped I burned that bastard with it.

Out of the corner of my eye, Joan opened her mouth to say something, but closed it as she shook her head.

All Dr. Arkham did was nod once and gesture to the door on the other side of the room that led to the treatment room. Instead, I spun around and went down the hallway to the actual entrance, took another deep breath, and once the door buzzed, pushed the heavy metal door open. Two doors could’ve meant more of a headache for potential escapes, but it allowed for extra nurses or orderlies access in the case of a patient acting violently.

The room seemed huge and very cold. His back was to me, so all I saw was a hunched figure in a deep orange jumpsuit held down with a straightjacket until I walked to the other side of the table. He kept his gaze down at the shiny surface of the table, his eyes looking as empty as a doll’s as they focused on nothing. The rest of his body was shackled to the chair that was bolted to the floor. His brown hair had streaks of blonde and not a single trace of green dye. 

When he finally looked up, he might as well have shoved me under water. His dark brown eyes went sharp as if they already knew me, as if he already expected what I was going to do. I kept calm as I smothered a gasp and just opened the most recent file, slowly leafing through it for a second.

“My name is Dr. Quinzel and I’ll be your therapist for the near future.” I kept my voice even.

He fidgeted a bit, then a bit more as he started to rock back and forth. He then crouched down, trying to catch my eye. “Aren’t you going to ask me my name? Or how I got these scars?” His unmistakable voice with a noisy twang sank into a deep undertone that I don’t think the news broadcasts were quite able to catch.

I kept my eyes on the file. “Mmm, no. While your scar stories have a common theme of family and loved ones, they’re still too inconsistent; implying their origins aren’t important to you.” I looked up directly into his gaze as he then sat up. “Asylum policy would dictate that we use an actual name, but since you haven’t supplied one, we’re expected to use your patient number and I feel that’s too dehumanizing. I wanted to put out the idea of a compromise.”

He squinted more and more as I talked and then shrugged deep. “So what did you have in mind for your allegedly troubled patient?”

I’d been thinking about it when I got to my office and leaned towards keeping it simple. “How about… Mr. J?”

He stared hard at me for a solid second as he licked the corner of his lips before breaking out into one of his loud-pitched infamous laughs that wore down into something… more of a throaty chuckle. 

“Arkham must be desperate. Or hoping I’ll crack if he sends in a young face. Aren’t you scared? I’d be scared.” He cracked a cocky grin as he rocked his torso back and forth slightly; and then jiggled a leg. 

“I agreed when I was asked to talk to you. I looked at your files and one question came to mind, but I noticed no one asked it…” 

He looked back and forth across the room, as if half expecting someone else to chime in. “And?” He asked with an inpatient singsong as he clenched his teeth together.

“Why a clown persona? If you claim to work to get people to see your truth, why hide behind the paint? What is this persona meant to inspire if people keep being distracted by it?”

He stopped jiggling his leg and kept staring right at me with that laser focus. I couldn’t help but swallow a gulp, no matter how slow or small I tried to make it. Had I overstepped? Had I just asked another redundant question like everyone else?

He broke out in a smile that was just as sharp as his staring, the expression in his eyes not changing at all. “Finally, a real question.” He straightened his posture as he turned to the long mirror along the wall. He shouted, “I’ll only talk to her. There’s no use sending in anyone else now.”

He tongued the back of his molars as my pulse jumped. The buzz from the ceiling told me our time was up.

I was still so stunned that my voice came out in a loud whisper. “Um, yeah. ‘Til next time. Probably in a day or two.” 

I don’t remember leaving the therapy room or what fake gushing Dr. Arkham managed to come up with that probably still sounded passive aggressive. Yet, Joan’s worried face stayed with me as I headed back to my office, though the impression didn’t stick around for long. He talked to me! Said he would only talk to me after passing on more experienced therapists, some who’d been practicing since before I was born. He managed not to make a comment about my looks, unlike some patients. The thought did cross my mind that he thought me malleable, but I promised myself then I would give as good as I got.

Therapy steadied as much as it would over the next week. For every question I had, he either pivoted or gave me a question back. I figured the best course of action was to appeal to his narcissistic tendencies to get any further answers. 

I asked, “Why do what you allegedly did if people were going to focus on what’s seen as violence instead? Did you ever worry about loosing your message in the delivery?”

He raised his eyebrows before leaning forward. “Allegedly? Pretty vague wording there, doc.”

I rolled my eyes. “Legally speaking, we don’t want you to implicate yourself, especially if there was something… going on with you. This is all just apart of building up a case for your defense.”

He hummed long, as if trying to work out some half remembered song. “For some, it might take a minute to sink in, the aftermath to reverberate like a guitar string, but I have to admit…” He made a theatrical sigh. “There are some so inured to the status quo, the real lesson might never sink in. The real question doctor, is do people really see each other to even begin to entertain another possibility? That there might be more of a kaleidoscope to life than what’s put forward?”

“So your plans, like the ferries last year for instance, are just a proverbial Hail-Mary pass that someone might get the message? Sounds like kind of a lonely way to work.”

His eyes darted around the room and he fidgeted like the straightjacket itched him all of a sudden. He clicked his tongue. “No, no. I say I never ‘plan’ because it’s too ridged. There’s no room for change or new information. It’s better to just set your pieces in place where you’ll most likely need it most, so you can slide things around if something more amusing comes up later.” He nodded and raised his eyebrows as if what he just said was the absolute truth.

I stared hard at the table at all that he just gave me, that most of it could’ve still been leading me on or totally useless. I thought I gave some half-thought out answer. But the session stayed with me as I worked back in my office and was distracted by an e-mail from Arkham. There were details about the annual charity gala was coming up. Nothing too fancy, just the higher-up staff rubbing elbows during a cocktail hour with Gotham’s elite in order to inspire them to keep donating. Since I was now treating a higher security patient, he thought he had something in me to drag around. 

So I’d spent a better part of my evening at home, looking at cocktail dresses on my laptop, and tried not to let my eyebrows raise up too high. It occurred to me while I was browsing that no one ever really cared what I’d looked like. I had friends in high school and college, but we all considered ourselves to be the same. I had a boyfriend while in undergrad, but… it didn’t pan out. Everyone else from grad school onwards tended to see me as a role, not a person. As long as my clothes fit that role, no one had cared.

The gala ended up being pretty much what I’d thought it would be, at least at first. It was held at some country club’s meeting space in some old mansion between midtown and downtown. The place was covered in dark wood paneling and huge paintings of hunting dogs chasing a stag or aristocrats having a forest picnic in gilded frames. Most of Gotham’s elite was there; old families and new money alike. Dr. Arkham and the rest of the senior staff milled around, pasting wide smiles across their faces that didn’t quite reach their eyes. I told myself as I made my own rounds through the crowd that this was all a necessary evil. They gave money that helped keep the asylum running, especially for patients who’s families wouldn’t have been able to afford care elsewhere. 

But I felt a heavy, rushing annoyance at how these socialite ladies talked to me with their thin, pressed lips and gestured with their thin wrists as they kept glancing everywhere else around the room that they felt “so awwwful” and glad they could help “shelter Gotham’s most unfortunate”. I succeeded in not rolling my eyes when I was told I must have been quite talented to attend this event as such a young doctor. And it didn’t help that I was wore a new red dress, feeling a beacon even though it was the only thing I could find in my size. I made it a habit not to wear a lot of bright colors. No one wanted to see me bring attention to myself. The dress was sleeveless and fit around my torso a bit snug and then tapered down to a pencil skirt shape that stopped just at my knees. I had a black shawl around my shoulders and was glad I had it, as that mansion was still drafty for being early summer that was the norm for Gotham.

I finished circulating and stood by the bar, trying not to glare at the crowd as a familiar voice ordered a single scotch next to me. I glanced over and saw the familiar voice had a familiar face from the news, Bruce Wayne. He did a double take and snapped his fingers.

“I’m sorry, but you look familiar. Have I met you at one of these things before? Would you like to join me in having a drink?” He asked, squinting as if trying to remember.

“Um…no, I’m not…” I sighed, “I’m Dr. Harleen Quinzel. I was the intern over at the asylum.” I held out my hand for him to shake it and he actually did. Nor did he try to loom over me or act smug or make a show of checking me out.

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard Dr. Arkham talking about you.” He only stopped to pick up his drink and stuff what I was pretty sure was a fifty-dollar bill into the tipping glass. “He said you were working on a special project, that you moved to Gotham specifically to work at the asylum. I’m just a bit surprised that you decided to do that. Admirable, though. It seems like they don’t get a lot of people who stick around.”

“Yes, it’s quite the project. I’m sure the results will be a surprise to everyone, but I can’t quite get into details. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that.” I said and he nodded as if he understood. “And for moving here, I chose to because I heard they were looking and I wanted a challenge. I had a practicum at a clinic during grad school but found most peoples’ problems to be…” I bit my lower lip, not wanting to insult one of the asylum’s biggest donors. “… a bit route after a while. I was looking for somewhere that was a bit hard, that maybe other people overlooked or wrote off the patients as not worth helping.”

He nodded like that was the most profound thing he’d heard all day. Maybe it had been. He set his mostly full drink down and removed a silver case from his back pocket. “I’m going to give you my contact information. I think your future will be one to watch, Dr. Quinzel.”

A month went by and I still wasn’t any closer to figuring out his motives, but Mr. J kept talking. It was mostly about his philosophy, his outlook on the world, but it was something. Arkham thought that therapy was progressing enough to “allow” the Joker to go to therapy without the straightjacket, but kept the restraints; much to the Joker’s surprise even. 

“You’re not sleeping with him and you’re not blackmailing him, because I would’ve heard a little bird about it by now.” His voice graveled over the words so low and dipped into a whisper that made the hair on my arms prickle. It was hard to be offended when I read in the police files how quickly he seemed to learn everything about everyone the last time he created havoc. 

I shrugged. “He’s thinking enough progress has been made, that’s all.”

He craned his neck and shrugged. “I’m just wondering why you seem to have a complete lack of angle. This is Gotham…” He growled, “Everyone has an angle. Why are you really here in this particular institution?”

I shrugged again and for a moment, hesitated on how much truth to tell him. The past had been long past and I had a hard time imaging he’d find anything to manipulate me with. “I had a knack in middle school for giving my peers advice. By the time I was in high school, I made my own little, unofficial office in an unused girls’ bathroom on the third floor. There was one kid down the street who was a few years younger than me and the sole other only-child in our neighborhood.” I bit my lower lip and stopped myself. He’d appreciate me being honest instead of hiding something under the guise of being unimportant. “So I became sort of an older sister for him. He… he had a rare variety of Schizoaffective disorder. His parents struggled to get him help, but they couldn’t take a ton of time off work and the university hospital pretty much wanted to study him more than help. He died because of that and his parents moved away. I wanted to make sure that never happened to someone else.”

His eyes narrowed for a second and he slowly shook his head as he said in his singsong tone, “No, no, no, no. That’s not it. That’s not a deep enough truth.”

I let out a sigh of exasperation I would’ve never used around him before as my shoulders drooped. I said back, “What do you want? That’s the truth and you claim to appreciate the truth over lying or people hiding parts of it.”

“No, no. There was something deeper… darker. I can tell.”

“There was something…” He nodded for me to continue and part of me felt a twinge of foolishness for indulging him. Did he really need to hear this? But he’d been in the asylum for nearly a year and on his own for who knew how many years before that. Human connection, something about me could’ve helped. “You know, we’re supposed to be here to talk about you. But there was a scandal that went on in my neighborhood when I was a junior in high school….”

“Go on.” He leaned forward on the chair as his eyes wide like a kid who finally had permission to watch a scary movie. 

“There was this kid, this guy who was probably one of the most spoiled guys I grew up around. This 17-year-old kid had a sports car that he and his dad bought together when he made varsity on the football team. That rankled some of the adult guys who worked for a living. Anyway… It turned out that previous fall he assaulted a girl who was a year younger than us with some of his suck-up friends and they accidentally killed her. Everyone thought she’d run away except for her sister. Turns out his dad helped him hide the crime and they sealed her body behind a fake wall in the basement of one of the houses the dad was remodeling. The dad had plans to retire early, collect his union pension, and become a landlord since our neighborhood was in the mid-end of gentrifying. They were only caught because they were going to kill this young couple who’d been renting that house and the guy found her body while he was digging up the basement. I don’t know why he was digging up a rented house, but there were rumors going around that this guy was going crazy. I guess not too crazy, because he found her body. One of the other dads who turned out to be a bit involved showed up to stop this kid and his dad.’

“What I didn’t get about this whole thing was why? Why would he risk his future to shelter his son from a major crime? It turned out the kid was up for some football scholarships. I guess I just wanted to learn enough so maybe I could figure out why someone would do something like that.”

He smirked. “You cared. And that rankled you. This was an injustice that everyone else was willing to overlook with time. If they didn’t have to get involved, doc, they weren’t going to.” I made a mental note to add my story and his response as a rational to my case notes, that he wasn’t completely immune to recognizing things like empathy.

I shrugged again, wishing that wasn’t my default gesture as I glanced away for a second. “That was probably more than most people, then.”

As I tried to get to sleep that night, I mulled over why I’d been so open. I’d never given anyone that much detail about that incident. But then, most people at the time hadn’t and wanted to move on like nothing had happened. Most of the people even adjacently involved moved away by the following spring. I’d been carrying it for years and had no one to really break it apart with. 

Therapy continued. Mr. J would let a few minor details of his life slip through, about his early crime days when he went on about his philosophy, but there wasn’t really enough to start building a case for insanity. That seemed to bother Dr. Arkham. At meetings, he acted overly confident that I’d find something eventually, but that I should try harder to find something that proved his insanity. Otherwise they had to reconsider any future recommendations for me. The rest of the staff glared at me for only having one patient on my case load and couldn’t seem to stop dragging my feet at finding anything on. Those meetings never failed to make me feel like I was sitting six inches tall and at the farthest end of the table. I had to remind myself that they all failed to reach him, much less succeed in treating. 

I’d ended up spending even more time alone as Joan had taken two of my former patients on her own case load and we didn’t have much time to meet for lunch or breaks anymore. As the weather started to heat up, I began eating lunch on the roof of Building B that was shadowed from any outside gaze by Building A that had originally been the Arkham mansion. I was supposed to have been shadowing the staff and learning more techniques as part of my intership, but that had never materialized. I’d leave the asylum around seven most evenings and went back to my apartment, only turning on the kitchen light as I ate my takeout. I listened to the news drone on about how it was another cataclysmic day in Gotham.


	4. Come Together Right Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! I put a few Easter Eggs in this chapter for funsies. See if you can spot them.

One Monday morning as I cleared through employee security and headed up to my office, once of the first shift nurses, Jessica, strode up to me in her maroon scrubs. Her long, blonde hair was held in a wide bun at the back of her head. 

“Dr. Quinzel, I really need to talk to you. Something… something’s wrong with the Joker.” Her voice dropped and she kept glancing around us as she talked. “I picked up Tonya’s Saturday shift so she could deal with her kids. And… well, he kept egging on some of the weekend guards and said something that set one of them off. You know we don’t say anything around these people, especially the high security ones. Still, the Joker got beaten up and he’s been in his cell all weekend with his injuries.” She bit her lower lip as her eyes darted around.

I blinked hard and fast as I reeled back. “Why didn’t Arkham call me? Why…” I hissed a sigh through my teeth. “Show me.”

Jessica led me up to the high security floor, where all the patients who were a high risk of danger to others were housed. Each metal door had a long, narrow Plexiglas window. She stopped outside of cell 0718 and stepped aside for me to look. Mr. J sat on the floor, his legs spread out in front of him as his back rested against the side of the bed that was bolted to the floor. 

I tapped on the window and his head lolled around as he made himself focus on me. “I’ll be right back.” I said, hoping he’d heard me and wasn’t suffering too much trauma, “I’m going to fix this.”

I strode off quickly and ignored Jessica’s questions of where was I going? What should she do in the meantime? All I could see were the hallways and stairwells in front of me as I headed directly to Arkham’s office. Margie called out for me to wait, that I couldn’t just enter his office as I walked even faster through that parody of a waiting room. I yanked his office door open, startling Arkham into dropping a heavy pen that landed on his desk with a small thud.

He stared at me wide eyed. “Dr. Quinzel, what’s the meaning of all this?”

I kept my mouth and tone tight to not start yelling at him right away. “Why has my patient been sitting in his injuries for over 24 hours? Why wasn’t I notified? He could have had a seizure or a traumatic brain injury. Someone could have had him sedated so he could’ve received treatment and be properly checked. At the very least did anyone think of how this would affect the observation period?”

Arkham just sighed as he sank back into his overly cushioned leather chair, as if I’d just brought up an inconvenience that hadn’t mattered. “While patient 484479’s upcoming trial is of great importance, in general his overall wellbeing isn’t that much of a higher status then that of our other patients. I’d venture to say any… additional condition he may now have might be helpful in this case. So, if you’ll excuse me, doctor...” He made a slight shooing gesture with his hands.

I could’ve dropped my jaw as he basically admitted that Mr. J hadn’t mattered. I had one ace in the hole, as he would’ve called it. “At the charity gala, I met Bruce Wayne and he gave me his contact information.” I kept my flexing hands behind me as I widened my stance just a little. “I’m sure he’d like to know how his family’s money is being used here… or lack of it in this case. I’m sure he’d be curious to hear how a patient’s been left injured, even a dangerous one.”

Arkham’s mouth fell a bit open as he peered up at me, as if he’d never really seen me before. “Are you blackmailing me, Dr. Quinzel?”

“No,” I shook my head. “These are just facts. From now on, I will be his primary provider. I will be his main contact throughout his treatments and any future emergencies. If I require assistance, I will consult with Dr. Leland or the state psychologist. There will be no more recordings, board meetings, or daily reports. The only report you will receive from me is the one for the trial.”

I spun around and marched out of his office as quickly as I’d strode in, all the way back up to the high security floor, except I bothered to take the elevator. The nurses’ station went quiet as I strode right towards the supplies and medicine. They just stood there, watching me get bandages and wipes and antiseptic cream and a mid-grade ibuprofen injection and a bottle of water. I made myself meet their eyes and they all started to squirm, fuss, and look away.

“Did Dr. Arkham directly forbid anyone from treating him?” I asked and received more silence, more sheepishness, more shuffling around as the nurses went back to their work. “Unbelievable.” I slammed the medicine cabinet’s door closed and marched back out. 

Jessica still stood there, talking to Menendez who did a double take at noticing me standing there. “Are you sure you want to go in there, doctor? I can make a call down to Medical.”

I glared and they glanced away. “We’re here to help these people. I wish some the senior staff would remember that. Thank you, Jessica.” I swiped my card, turned on the light to his room by half, and entered Mr. J’s cell.

He still sat in front of his bed and the top of his forehead had a nasty cut that had smeared blood across his forehead and down his cheek. His other cheek had a bruise and there was another split on his lower lip. I squatted next to him and slowly reached over to check his head for any more immediate damage. “You can’t think I would condone you sitting like this, Mr. J. Have you been nauseous, having double vision…”

He grabbed my wrist hard, freezing my own as he glared hard to the point of squinting. This was the first time I’d been around him without a straightjacket or the floor restraints.

“Do you… do you know what day it is?” I whispered, trying to ignore the crushing pressure on my right wrist.

He peered off at the opposite corner of his cell as he licked the corner of his mouth. “Thursday. April 4th.”

I stared and wondered just how much brain damage did he sustain, “Um… it’s June… June 15th.”

He cackled a little with his mouth closed. “And it’s a Monday.”

I shook my head as I quickly glanced aside and then held up one of the cleaning wipes. He just shrugged and I started to wipe the blood off his forehead. “Again, you can’t expect that I’d condone something like this. One of the nurses told me just as I got here. I went right to Arkham after I tapped on your window and told him not to bother, that I’ll be your doctor from here on out. I’d met a key member of the board at the last charity gala and told Arkham I had his contact info, that he’d want to know how patients were being mistreated here. You shoulda seen the swallowed cactus look on his face.”

I froze as I realized in the last sentence I said that certain letters were dropped and my vowels spread as flat and long as the city where I grew up, kitty corner from Gotham across Lake Michigan. I stopped wiping away blood and sat back. “You… Look, I know what you’re going to say, that society shaped me into something they wanted and you’d be right.” He cracked a small smile I hadn’t seen in any video or recent therapy sessions. “I had some crappy advice from a professor when I was in undergrad and thought at the time because he was so much more experienced than me, it meant somethin’. He told me that people wouldn’t want to have a therapist who sounded ‘dumber’ than they were.”

He nodded and his pupils remained equally dilated. “See, you are learning something. Tell you what. Since you’re running the show now on these therapy sessions, why don’t you let it lax here?”

“I don’t see why not.” A twinge of something from deep inside my gut told me to be careful. He could be buttering me up to get something from me or to escape, but not before he could choke me first.

Our time extended into and past his usual therapy time and part of me was sad to leave, though I tried to hide it. His schedule needed to stay consistent, even in the face of medical neglect once the issue was resolved. That night at home, I couldn’t help but bring out my cleaning gloves and all-purpose cleaner and started detailing the kitchen’s cabinets and countertops as I thought over what happened. No one was up to actually practicing what they said they were going to do. A few months ago, I would’ve brushed it off as the sad state of life. But right then, it seemed inexcusable. The news was even more intolerable as an Indonesian teenage activist showed up at the UN, begging the adults to do something about the economy before no one had a future. Local pundits talked about a Batman sighting from the night before, but based on how he fought crime, I doubted he understood crime’s root causes. I was never one to expect deep thinking or awareness from major media, but all the commercials, all the reality TV shows, and even the scripted sitcoms seemed unfulfilling… attention seeking drivel. I snapped the TV off and tossed the remote across the room. I took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then got up off the couch to go put the remote back on the shelf in front of the TV. 

I convinced myself that it was probably best just to go to bed early. Yet, I flip-flopped every few minutes, unable to get my body to relax, to let it catch up on the sleep it wanted to have. I tried to think of soothing waterfalls, autumn forests, and even kittens, but my body couldn’t unclench. Until… my brain drifted to dark eyes that sometimes squinted, sometimes stared a hole through you, but always knew something. A smirk that seemed to include me in on the joke. Long fingers that drummed on any free surface. A hushed lower timbre voice that strummed something deep. My hand had drifted down towards the edge of my underwear and I jerked my hand back, as if away from the chasm of a black hole.

This man was my patient! Just because no one else seemed to give at rat’s ass about him, didn’t mean I got to take advantage, even in the privacy of my mind. I pointed up at the ceiling as if I accused a friend up there of doing something terrible.

I whispered, “Tomorrow morning! Before work! You’re going to reactivate one of your online dating profiles!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there’s the obvious April 4th reference. The Joker’s cell, 0718, was the day The Dark Knight came out.


	5. Looking into his eyes, I think he’s already hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up, but I don’t think that Harley quite knows that yet since she’s keeping an eye on Mr. J.

I spent the next morning hoping that no one would’ve magically picked up my previous night’s thoughts. Mr. J was no longer in a straightjacket for his sessions, but he was still handcuffed and bolted to the floor. This seemed to amuse him as he studied his hands and made a play of testing the handcuff’s strength.

“There wouldn’t be anything to stop me from choking you, doc. Is it smart letting me this loose?” His voice had that famous sing-song.

I scoffed, unable to hold back a grin. “Then who would you have to talk to? The other staff you were studiously ignoring? The other patients you’re not allowed near? Dr. Crane?”

Mr. J made a mock scowl at the last mention that parodied the former doctor’s blank, judging expression. “Careful, doc. That smile you’re making could knock me into making good behavior.”

I held myself back from letting out a large, genuine laugh. The kind that makes your stomach jump and your eyes squint with tears forming. Then the cold reality of it all doused over me and I dropped the smile.

“You’re trying to manipulate me… Get me to think you’re cooperating.” I couldn’t help but lean back a teensy bit.

He shook his head like I’d said something insultingly stupid. “Uh, no, I’m not.”

“Yeees, you are.” I stood up from the table. “I may be new to this field, Mr. J, but I’m not that naive. I stuck up for you against Arkham and now you want to make sure you’re on my good side. What more could you possibly want?”

“Nooo…” He quickly stood up and made a short turn around the table so he stood right in front of me, towering over me as my heart speed up and my brain told me I’d let this go too far. He grabbed both of my wrists hard. What difference did it make if he was handcuffed? “No, no. Listen. Listen to me. I don’t saw this often about other people, but you are right.” He said those words like he wanted them to sink in. “There’s hardly anyone else here even remotely close to my level. No one else on the outside paid attention except for **_him_** and let’s face it. His sense of humor? It needs a lot of work.” His tone dripped down into a register I felt in my toes. He shook his head as if to clear it up. “The facts often go ignored and the war paint is a form of showmanship that’s truthful. But in the end, I don’t need to lie, to create anything. There’s so much fun that can be had by letting the truth off its leash.” He licked the inside of his cheek.

By the end of the session, he sat back down across from me as if nothing had happened. But something had and I spent the rest of my evening turning that session over and over in my mind, but didn’t come to an immediate conclusion.

I had a date on that Saturday, in midtown at some reasonable wine bar that served appetizers that would accompany the wine. My date worked at some investment firm that contracted with Wayne Enterprises, like this was supposed to impress me. After a long spiel of what he did and how much he went to the gym after work, he asked me what I did.

“Well, right now I’m finishing a doctoral psychology internship at Arkham Aslymn.” I said and he gave me a blank face that twisted into confusion. “I’m almost done with earning my PsyD— like a doctoral program, but they let me actually work with patients. I’m still technically in this program in Chicago that’s an accelerated one, because normally I’d be starting on a thesis right about now.”

His eyes lit up and he grabbed my hand. It was sweaty. “That’s cool. So, you can just change their medicine whenever? There must be some crazy criminals that you’ve seen.”

“Well, it’s not like that. The majority of the people there came voluntarily to get help for some kind of mental illness. There are very few people who would be there for the long term.”

“Oh, I thought there would be some actually messed up stuff instead of people who need to stop being sad. It doesn’t sound that hard. Maybe you should open a gym for them or something there.”

Blood pounded in my ears so hard that it sounded like the waves of the ocean during a storm. “What about you? What else do you like to do besides work out?”

He cracked a smile and went on about hanging out with his work buddies and going golfing. That one time one of his cousins got him a deal at a small course near the Palisades and that you could damn near see Wayne Mansion. As he went on with his surface interest in the Gotham Knights and networking events, his clammy hand skated over my upper thigh like he dared himself to do it and rested on my kneecap. I felt a swoop of relief as our food arrived and he backed off.

And thankfully, he didn’t say much as we ate. Then he asked what I wanted to do next and I admitted I hoped to work at a hospital after I graduated. He gave me this lopsided grin as he tilted his head towards me and asked what else I was up to for that night. I truthfully said it’d been a long week for me, that I was thinking of heading home to catch up on sleep. He followed me outside of the restaurant so close, yet he couldn’t think to offer to stay with me until I caught a cab. He just leered as he offered to let me rest at his place and he honest-to-God wagged his eyebrows as he said so. He rubbed my elbow with two fingers and I stared at him, wondering who did this schmuck think he was? He acted like I was actually being charmed by all this crap. He grabbed my hand and made some teasing comment about me owing him, that he did me a favor by considering dating me. I made a slight turn away from him and swung out with a fist, cracking him one right in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground groaning and no one around us seemed to notice, as weirder things happened every day on the sidewalks of Gotham.

As he rolled back and forth, he cupped his hands over his nose. Even though I clearly got his jaw. “You.. ugh, God. You crazy bitch.”

I leveled my finger at him, not caring to hide my old accent. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk to me again.” And without another word, I turned and went down the sidewalk until I was able to hail a cab.

Once home, I deadbolted the door, but didn’t bother turning on any lights. City lights came in from my living room’s window and filled up the kitchen with a dull, orange glow. I threw my keys onto the counter and didn’t bother to pick them up when they skid across the surface and fell right to the floor. I picked up my phone and my thumb hovered near Joan’s number, as she was my only real contact in any of this, but she’d tell me I’d need to back off from Mr. J’s case. But I didn’t want to give up when I’d gotten closer than anyone. I didn’t want to give Arkham or anyone else the satisfaction. I didn’t want them to neglect him to death.  
I’d had enough wine for one evening and recalled that I had half a bottle of Jameson’s in the kitchen. Most of my cabinets were empty, except for a few dishes here and there. The one closest to the door had the bottle and I brushed off the thin layer of dust near its top. I whistled a rising tone as I poured myself a few fingers worth into a juice glass and sprawled out on my couch. What the fuck was my life? I sipped, not quite noticing the taste and had no interest in watching the TV ever again. I held onto that glass so hard, I thought it’d splinter in my hand like ice.

I considered the wide, picture window, the second-hand flat screen TV, the mismatched dishes I’d been collecting since I was in college, the shiny surface of the refrigerator that magnets wouldn’t stick to, the stack of takeout menus, and the framed degrees in my little office. The lack of pictures. The nearly empty contact list in my phone. The fact that no one in my adult life ever found me worth the effort to keep me in their lives for the long-term. I wanted to stop drinking only to break every… single… thing. It was all so… hollow and fake, like a set instead of someone’s home. The only person who could bother to tell me the truth or didn’t pretend to be anyone other than who they were was my psychotic, narcissistic patient with anti-social disorder and a clown persona. It made me sad, until it didn’t.

I got up and on the way to my room, threw the glass into the kitchen sink and I didn’t stop to see how much it had broken. I flopped down onto my bed and then realized I was still wearing those hideous date clothes that were also my work clothes, just in a slightly different configuration. I all but tore off the dark gray blouse and hideous, dark green slacks I rarely wore but felt too responsible to get rid of just because they were in my size. I threw everything to the other side of the room and then proceeded to empty half of my closet before tossing myself back onto the bed.

All I had on at that point was a bra and underwear. I should’ve felt cold, should’ve crawled under my bedsheets, but I didn’t care. My mind drifted to long but solid fingers that moved under their own volition to make a point, a voice that could peak and dip into a low timbre that I swore I could’ve felt in my lower back that minute. Dark eyes that weren’t flat but held an infinite set of microexpressions that went from teasing to deadly intensity. My hand slid into my underwear as my mind put all these images together. As I dove further into myself, my curiosity wondered if he’d be disgusted or honored if he knew what I’d been up to right then. I curled my fingers and worked myself into a solid daze, only grabbing a pillow to cover my face as I keened his name. Not the nickname I gave him, but the one he wanted everyone to know him as.

When I saw him the following Monday, a small part of me wondered if he guessed what’d I’d been up to, as he seemed to have a near-psychic ability to learn everything about everyone. He let his gaze double over me twice and made a smirk, but made no double entendre.

He asked, “You’re not your usual sarcastic-bubbly self. Rough weekend? You can tell me.” He tilted his head down slightly and raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged and sighed. “Who hasn’t from time to time? If I don’t have to give you the details, I’ll get you a chocolate pudding cup from the cafeteria.”

He smirked and shook his head like I was some kid who fell off their bike while dinkin’ around. “You know, normally I’d say something about the futility of trying to apply bribery as if it mattered, but I’ll let you have this once.”

And for the next day’s session, I brought out a small, plastic-cupped chocolate pudding with a plastic spoon I’d stowed away in my coat pocket. He’d been staring at the table and glanced up at me as he smirked.

“You kept your word. I like that.”

I fought back a blush as I peeled back the lid and fed him a spoonful of pudding. “I’ve got an idea for your trial in August.”

“Hmmm?” He licked pudding away from the corner of his lips and I fought not to let my face flush.

“No one’s really watching or caring what the outcome of these sessions are. I can come up with something convincing and run it by you first. At least to keep you out of Blackgate.”

He grinned, wide and sharp and I suppressed a shiver of joy.


	6. What’s the worst that could happen to a girl who’s already hurt?

In hindsight, as I sat inside Medical with my small wounds being patched up, I wondered if it’d been so wise to tell him that plan and so soon. I’d been working late a month after that conversation. Joan asked me to help consult on a new intake patient and I was headed down the hallway to my closet-office. A strong arm wrapped quick around my collarbone and another hand brought a knife up to my neck, a sharp prick that promised more sharpness if I struggled. Strong panting grazed over my right ear.

“Don’t strug-gle.” Mr. J said and my limbs lost all tension.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why now? The trial isn’t—.”

“Not that I don’t have faith in your methods, doc, but there comes a moment when you realize it’s time to go.”

The tension in my limbs came roaring back. I tensed my back against his chest as we round a corner.

“You don’t get to ruin everything I’ve worked for! We’ve worked towards. I stood up for you. I’ve kept you out of Arkham’s ambitions. I have a strategy to keep you out of Blackgate!”

He huffed a low laugh that tickled the back of my neck and I fought to keep my knees from buckling. What the fuck was wrong with me? A few nurses and security came out into the hallway to see what the noise was and all of them stared with wide-eyed shock. A few people shouted. I teared up as a few of the security guards drew out their guns, but hesitated to even aim as Mr. J— The Joker— kept my body in front of his as a shield. They shouted instead that you’ll be ok, Dr. Quinzel, we’ll get you out of this. A panic sob escaped from my throat as the Joker turned our bodies right back around at the end of the hallway before kicking open the stairwell door that would lead up to the roof, right to B roof where I’d been eating my lunches. Smart, really, as most of the stairwells would’ve been on lockdown by then except for the one to the roof. Because who’d escape from the roof?

He only let me go to grab my left hand in a crushing grip and then started to dash up the stairs, muttering, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.” As if we were late to something. He wasn’t wearing his orange jumpsuit but some ratty jeans and a gray t-shirt. He used his body to toss the door open. The setting sun’s orange glare was nearly blinding and a worry crossed my mind that he meant to toss me from the roof to distract… whoever.

But that whoever made a jump from somewhere higher up with batwing-shaped glider wings that detached and folded up as he landed with a roll into a low squat. The Joker growled something like anticipation before tossing me aside. This sad, sharp pang of jealousy passed right through me as I landed on the sandpaper-like surface of the roof. My hands and legs got a few scuffs for all the trouble. The corner of my forehead felt hot and scratched, but I was too busy pushing myself up to watch the fight going on twenty feet away from me to check.

Batman swung a fist down towards the Joker as if he’d put his whole strength behind it, but the Joker would just make a large step aside, laughing the whole time. My eyes went wide as one punch did land and I sat up more, wondering if I should’ve intervened somehow. But all he did was laugh even louder and caught Batman’s lower calf with the knife he must’ve hidden after holding it to my neck. Batman groaned, which… sounded like his regular voice to be completely honest. A rhythmic thump came from off in the distance and soon, a helicopter came into view.

The Joker scrambled off the ground and seemed to reach for something in his pocket. He pulled something off a ball-shaped object and threw it towards my direction as the helicopter hovered closer to the building; the whump-whump-whump of the turning blades mirrored my heart beating under my ribcage. The Batman leaped away from the Joker and covered the grenade with his glider wings that quickly folded into a sharp-edged, hexagonal goth beachball just as the grenade exploded. The whole thing trembled and then sagged. The sound was only muffled so much and my ears rang as my head throbbed.

I turned around and the Joker and the helicopter were gone. I gasped like my whole body wanted to start sobbing and I sucked in a deep, deep breath to keep it all down and he’d left me. The sunlight had softened to a yellowy haze and he left me. My eyes went damp from the tears that came up along the bottom of my eyelids and he left me. I let out that breath as it sunk into every part of my being that he’d left me. Sure, he’d used me as a human shield and tossed me aside before throwing a grenade by way and he’d left me. He was the only, sole person who’d made any sense in my life and he’d left me. The far off hiss of traffic and the growing sound of sirens carried on a cold wind that raked over my skin made me feel so alone right then and he’d left me.

I didn’t hear Batman say my name until he’d said it again, a bit louder, and then quietly asked if I was okay. Or at least, that’s what I’d thought he asked. He pointed towards the stairwell door and a few of the security guards and GCPD burst through. Every single one of them looked relieved, half put their guns away as the other half kept their aim towards Batman; all asked me in a rush if I was all right. I turned around, knowing the GCPD would try to arrest Batman, but he was already gone.  
They were all very gentle in herding me back down the stairs, to an elevator where a bunch of the guards and nurses talked at once. A few of their own had been on the Joker’s payroll and there was a rumor he’d had one of the nurse’s families threatened. None of it really registered as I was led to Medical. I sat on a cot with a green sheet over it and barely heard Joan say my name.

One look at her worried face and the tears just came as I started to sob ugly, heaving tears that blurred my vision for a long, solid while. When I cleared the tears with a scratchy tissue that Joan handed me, Dr. Arkham stood there, looking down as he shuffled his feet before glancing away; as if my tears and emotions had ironically unsettled him.

“Um… There’s a few detectives who’d like to speak with you when you’re ready, Dr. Quinzel.” He said low and walked off as if I was catching.

Two detectives wandered over. The younger, taller woman introduced herself as Coleman and her shorter, grayer male counterpart as Bullock. I barely registered their questions. No, I had no idea the Joker had planned a breakout. Because of doctor-patient confidentiality, all I could say was he hadn’t hinted at any of this. A flicker of rage ran through me at the insinuation of being asked if I would’ve called the GCPD at all if I'd known. No, I didn’t have anyone else to call. Yes, I’d have my cell phone near me in the next few days if they had any more questions.

Joan offered to call a cab or to even drive me home, but Arkham interrupted, saying they couldn’t really hold employees’ cars in the parking lot overnight unless it was a dire emergency. That I was to take at least one day off work before coming back. She barely hid back a scoff, but he walked away without another word. None of the words anyone said to me registered. It felt like I listened to a play than dealt with real people.

The car ride home was silent except for the sound of my pulse coursing through my ears until I turned the radio on to the rock station, letting the rattling beat carry me the rest of the way home. My ears rang as I crossed the underground parking lot and rode the elevator up to my apartment. There were other people around me, as I’d come home early enough when most other people did. None of the other tenants said hi or asked me how my day was. It was like that when I went home around that time, but that day it stung.

I left the lights off again and walked right to the living room window. The orange soda and yellow glow of the city lights made everything seem that much more vast and hidden and a mess deep inside my chest. I didn’t want to just stay home until my head cleared. If my head cleared? I needed to find him, but I had no clue where to even begin looking. He probably had hideouts in hideouts. Sleep completely skipped over me that night as I kept moping on my couch and kept my gaze on the tall, distorted, maze-like city below.

I forced myself to take stock of what I did have. There was the open gymnastics class being offered to adults at the gym. In the closet in my bedroom, I had an old shoebox on the top shelf that held a handgun I’d bought not long after I moved to Gotham. I had no bullets for it and it was mostly for show to hopefully scare someone away if they managed to get past security on the ground floor and worked their way up eleven flights of stairs. I had a small, security keychain attached to my purse for when I was out and about that would let out a high shriek if I pulled the pin. I had three years worth of doctoral school psychology in my brain and a stubborn nerve that saw me through every personal crisis, little and big, since I was eighteen. Somehow, I would figure this out and then figure out what to do after that once I found him. I doubt I would’ve talked him into going back to the asylum, but maybe I could’ve helped him somehow once we were face to face.


	7. I don’t need to sell my soul, he’s already in me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are speeding up now! This chapter’s title comes from The Stone Rose’s “I Wanna Be Adored”. (Forgot to mention that the titles of the last two chapter titles came from Lana Del Rey’s “Happiness is a Butterfly”.)

The new routine I had by the end of the week went something like this. I was to come back part-time until “they” felt I was recovered enough to go back to my regular schedule. I was to only treat a few of the patients with a lower security status; usually those who weren’t a serious threat and maybe had committed a crime, but a minor one that was a first offence for most of them. I gave it a good effort, seeing as this was the work I’d been doing since I’d arrived at the Asylum. I even managed to get a few nights of useful rest. But I soon found myself bored, even though most of the cases themselves weren’t boring: an elderly woman whom most of the staff was trying to figure out if she just had dementia or also schizophrenia on top of it and a teen boy with a complicated eating disorder that had led to a small scuffle with the law in the form of a breaking-and-entering. This went on for a week and a half. I’d go to the gym on my way home and reawaken my body on how to do somersaults, balance on a high beam, and try to flip myself around on the uneven bars. 

I’d go home with sore muscles and blisters starting to form on my hands, but at least I’d accomplished something. I’d shower and then go through the Internet in case I missed a new rumor or a potential sighting. A few people on some forums claimed to have seen the Joker, but of course, no proof.

I’d been working a short afternoon shift when the whole building seemed to buzz as nurses and doctors alike started fussing and milling around the hallways more so than usual. I poked my head out of my office and Jessica told me that the Batman had brought the Joker back.

I ran out of my office and ahead everyone else by taking a few stairwells and unfrequented hallways down to the main corridor near the front entrance. The Batman stood hulking over everyone else and held the Joker upright by the scuff of his blue patterned shirt as the rest of him sprawled out across the floor. He cackled as his arms were covered with bruises, all his facepaint was smeared, his right eye was nearly swollen shut, and the left corner of his mouth still bleed, trickling blood down his neck. I stood there mesmerized as he waved his arms around as Batman talked to Dr. Arkham. He grunted in pain as he rolled over after the Batman let him go. Some orderlies surrounded him, securing him into a straightjacket. 

That sound got my attention and I marched over to that self-righteous vigilante and these men who thought they knew better than everyone else. I barely saw what the Batman’s eyes looked like as he turned towards me. I swung my hand across his face hard and I drew it back, stinging. He took a stunned step back as I laid into him.

“You think you’re so justified, that you’ve got everyone else fooled. But you don’t have me fooled. You think you’re going to solve Gotham’s problems bullying the mentally ill? Those out of work? You’re no better than he is, except you’re worse. You’re trying to press some moral outcome you didn’t think that deeply about over this town like concrete instead of seeing what’s actually going on. You…” I lost my string of words as someone grabbed my right arm from behind me with both of their own hands. 

I looked behind me to see Joan staring with wide, pleading, frightened eyes and her mouth dropped open. Her gaze shifted around nervously to the judging looks that the rest of the staff gave me. Dr. Arkham had turned deep pink while he sputtered apologies to the vigilante. The orderlies hoisted Mr. J off the ground and our eyes locked on each other.

He let the uninjured side of his mouth tick upwards into a small, flash of a smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, doc.”

I’d started to cry in spite of myself and let out a small sob of relief before I said, “You’re such a dork. Did you have to goad him so hard?” I shook my head.

He scoffed as he fell silent and formed a closed mouth smile full of pride as the orderlies started to take him away. I kept my gaze following Mr. J for as long as I could, not looking back as Dr. Arkham cleared his throat. After a long pause, he muttered in a low tone to see him in his office right away. I followed him, but felt no sharp pang of nervousness, no apprehension. It was as if just being around Mr. J for that short of amount of time gave me a boost I’d been missing. 

Joan also joined us in his office, shutting the door behind us. Arkham had stared hard at his bookshelf and then turned around quickly as he slapped his hand down on his desk. Joan froze up behind me, but I was still feeling pretty sanguine as I shifted my weight from one foot to another, blocking Arkham’s view of her body with my own.

“You’ve had no right getting that close to your patient! Your methods have probably set us back further. The commissioner will want an inquiry to our work here.”  
“But it’s going work out. I was getting so much material from him.” I said, “You’ll thank me when he’s here permanently as your star patient.” My stomach twisted sharp after I said it. Was that all the best I could really do for him?

Dr. Arkham shouted, “I should fire you tonight! But because of your little connection with a key member of the board, you should consider yourself lucky that I’m only placing you on an administrative leave while we clean up your mess. I’ll need any paper and electronic notes you managed to make on patient 484479 by the end of the week. You can leave files with security, no need to come in.” With a small, brushing hand wave, I was dismissed.

Joan walked alongside me as I headed to my office for my things, but I barely could focus on what she said and I only vaguely remembered making a loose plan to meet up for lunch in the next few days. My mind stayed in a fog as I drove home. On any other night I might’ve chanced going out, I would’ve admired how the city’s shadows formed canyons down the boulevards until the darkness was cut by a solitary street light. 

I parked in my spot in the underground parking and turned off my car. I could hear the engine ping as it cooled down, but I couldn’t get myself to move out of the car. I balled up a fist and gently knocked it against the steering wheel. Then again, a bit harder. And a bit harder again and again and again until I hammered the wheel with both fists as yelled as hard as I could until a little part of my subconscious told me to stop before I set off the airbag. 

I walked fast through the lobby even though there wasn’t anyone around to run into at that moment. I huddled in a corner of the elevator and all but ran to my door, but I couldn’t hold back a heaving sob anymore. No one came out to see what all the noise was as I struggled to unlock my door, tears running down my face. Once safe inside the darkness of my apartment, I sunk down onto the floor and bawled. They couldn’t just take him away from me. Not after I just found him after being alone for so long.

I woke up, sprawled across my bed with my sheets half tangled around me from flip-flopping through the night. A thought stampeded across my mind that I could save him. Though I wasn’t sure if he’d be open to being helped; that his reaction to rescue could go one way or another. I rolled over and wrapped my arms around my legs as I curled up into a ball. I imagined him rotting away somewhere deep at Blackgate until someone remembered to send him to the electric chair. I shook my head at how finite that seemed… how predictable. And sad. If it was sad for him or for me, I couldn’t tell at that moment.

I reached for my cell phone that waited on my nightstand and saw on the news that a ton of the police had chased Batman from a crime scene later in the early morning, some time after I would’ve fallen into a fitful sleep. Police speculated he’d gone back near where he’d captured the Joker because they thought he knew about some other lead or clue or some other crap. I tapped my fingers on the counter as I thought over this and waited for my toast in the toaster oven. 

I also had voicemail messages that I listened to on speaker as I ate. My eyes nearly rolled out of my head as Dr. Arkham forced a saccharine, fake tone of concern; offering to be a confidant during this difficult time. Then he did me a small favor by dropping the tone to say he still needed those files back by the end of the week, when the Joker would be remanded to Blackgate. I stopped chewing for a second and absorbed that last piece of information.

The next message was from Joan and my chewing slowed down again, this time to a stop and I swallowed hard. “I know we haven’t been able to connect over these last few months, but I’m concerned Harleen.” I recoiled at the name, as a strong aversion reverberated inside of me that she didn’t live here anymore. Joan went on offering help, but part of me wondered why couldn’t she admit that she was as lost as I’d been? But I couldn’t really blame her. You couldn’t doubt yourself out loud for a second there or the staff rumor mill would smell blood in the proverbial water. 

The last message was a surprise that gave me pause. “Hello, Dr. Quinzel. This is Bruce Wayne. I heard what happened at the asylum with the Joker being brought back. That sounds rough. I wanted to call and offer you a place to finish your professional experience if they give you any trouble for your patient escaping. Please call me if you run into any trouble at all. I’m available most of the time.” It was sweet, but kind of weird. I didn’t remember giving him my number at the gala. And how did he know I was treating the Joker? I hadn’t mentioned that either.

A plan started to gel up inside my head and I needed to act on it sooner than later. Also, because no one would expect me to do it and no one would expect something so soon. I pulled up information on the Internet about fast cars and typed a few into a list on my phone to delete later. I’d leased my own car because it looked like and operated like nothing worth stealing, but one of those newer ones had just enough horsepower to get me down the street in case trouble started around me. This had become standard in Gotham, as people who drove wanted to protect themselves better. I also researched guns that I could feasibly shoot without breaking my wrist.  
I went to turn in my car, but they didn’t want to break the lease without a hefty fee, so I did it anyway. It took no time at all to rent one of the cars from my wish list and parked it in my underground spot. I’d put everything on my emergencies-only credit card with no intention of paying it off. If the front desk security asked, I planned to say I borrowed a friend’s car while mine was in the shop.

I went to the same gun store where I bought the revolver to buy bullets and another handgun. This time I choose a smaller nine-millimeter I actually had a chance of firing. No waiting, no background checks. No one blinked an eye when I brought my revolver out of my purse so they could figure out how big of a bullet I needed for it.   
The guy behind the counter raised an eyebrow. “Two different guns? You buyin’ for a boyfriend or something?”

I scoffed, even though he wasn’t that far off the mark, and kept my voice professional. “I saw the news broadcasts about the Joker and got a little nervous.”

“If ya ask me, they should’ve fried him when they had the chance.”

I seethed on the inside and pursed my lips tightly closed. As I prepared to pay for it all with cash, I saw something else, something larger on the wall with a huge hand-made sale sign next to it. I muttered “Only in Gotham.” and said I wanted that, too, for home protection. I went straight to the nearest shooting range. The newer gun was lighter and had barely a kickback. My targeting wasn’t the most centered, but I figured if the center bull’s-eye was supposed to be the middle of someone’s chest, I’d hit their shoulder or neck at least. 

Back home, I kept my large impulse buy in the trunk, set both guns aside, and started to go through what I had, to pick what I could bring with me. Some non-descript clothes that would keep me warm, a first aid kit, some extra bandages, dried snacks from the kitchen, and a pair of red boots that I wore on my days off. I saw my black, taller boots that I used to wear when I went out with my college friends, had used mostly for winter afterwards, and got an idea.

I set a left red boot next to a black one, then grabbed my black jeans from my packing pile, and ran to my closet for the clothes I used to wear on dates or nights out with friends, but hadn’t had the heart to get rid of afterwards. I had a thick cotton top in deep, brilliant red that had short sleeves that just covered the tops of my shoulders. I set that above the jeans and grabbed a second-hand black leather jacket that was a gift from an old friend, but had felt in recent years it was too unprofessional to wear most of the time. I slipped that under the shirt and stood back. It would work. I was declaring myself, but also made it clear in whom I was bonded to. Granted, if he wanted me along. This was all a very long Hail-Mary pass, but I had to do somethin’. 

I remembered an impulse buy that sat under my bathroom sink and dashed to get it, shoving a hair dryer and half bags of scented Epsom salts out of my way. There was a hair streaking kit that I bought before I remembered that I was about to start my residence at Arkham, that I needed to look a certain way for those cretins to take me seriously (though they never did). I read the directions and had no patience to pull chunks of my hair with a fake crochet hook through a shower cap in order to dye it.   
I leaned on the counter as I stared hard at myself in the mirror. I ran my hands from the bottom of my scalp and up through my hair, getting two ideas at once. I grabbed two old towels, laying them across the counter as I set out the dye. I brushed. I set out the gloves, the dye bottle, the mixer. I pressed play on my Ipod dock and stared again into the mirror as a guitar started chugging, backed by synthesizers, and the beat built up into a striding pace. I added the mixer into the dye and had just enough to dye the left side of my hair red. As it set, I made another cup of tea and threw a few dirty dishes into the trashcan so I could rise out my hair in the kitchen sink once the time came, because it was the deepest sink I had. And I was no longer worried about getting dye on the counter or the walls. I wrapped up my hair and went back to the bathroom, my lips spread into a wide smile as I slipped the towel off my head, revealing deep red on exactly one half of my head. 

I slipped on a gray hoodie sweatshirt for my old alma matter and went down to my car to put the duffle bag with the stuff I planned to bring with me into the trunk. Then I tried to sleep. I really tried. The tea I had earlier was un-caffeinated, but I was restless again, my limbs constantly agitated to keep moving. My plan was to get to the asylum well before the first shift staff got there and just as the third shift would be getting exhausted. But I couldn’t stay still enough to fall even just halfway asleep.   
I got up and put on my new outfit. I only turned on the light once I reached the bathroom. I took two hair ties and brought up each side of my head into bushy pigtails. I had old Halloween makeup already set out and smeared black on and around my eyes, following the occipital orbit and only smearing a little outside the lines. I smeared white paint nearly all over the rest of my face, even though it was a little more dried out and matte looking. I picked up my favorite tube of red lipstick, “Autumn Fire”, even if it’d been a bit dark for my day-to-day use but like so much of the stuff I had, appropriate for what I needed to do next. This, I applied on neater.

I stood back and admired my work. I’d been called Harley as a nickname off and on since childhood and it was time to bring it back. For a flash of a second, I wondered if this was something worth stopping. Was this worth throwing my hard-won, nearly-there degree away over? To risk arrest? To risk jail or being a patient at where I worked? But why should I’ve held back? What did I really risk besides peers who judged me for doing my job better than they bothered to? For Arkhams’s patronizing attitude or Leeland being unable to take the risk of standing up for me without jeopardizing herself? Having no life outside work except for the fancy-but-empty apartment? To miss out on the Joker’s sharp-yet-accurate perspective? So Mr. J could just waste away at Blackgate and everyone could pretend things were quote-unquote normal again?

“Yeah”, I muttered out loud, “It’s worth it.”


	8. Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep... this chapter’s title came from an MIA song.

I pocketed the lipstick, the paints, and extra hair ties. I slipped on the leather jacket and laced up the boots. Leaving my apartment for the last time was one of the easiest things I did in a long while. Maybe it was because I’d been saying good-bye for at least a month. Just before I let the door slip closed, I pushed it open as I saw my hammer sitting on the kitchen island. I figured you’d never know when you’d need one.

I remembered every lamppost, dented mailbox, wilting flowerbox, shuttered bodega, and piles of garbage that made up my commute to the asylum, never mind that it was in the middle of the night. There wasn’t anyone in the security box at the edge of the employee parking lot, but I was able to scan my badge to get in. I sat in my car and flexed my already tight hands around the steering wheel.

I leaned over under the passengers seat and slipped the new gun into my new leg holster and left the car, zipping up the black sweater jacket I wore over the leather one, just because it had a hood. Anger shook my veins like an earthquake as I stomped towards the employee entrance, not feeling the ground under my feet. Most of the staff would get lax, be tired. No one was in the security booth by the employee entrance and even if they had, I knew the glass wasn’t bulletproof. I had the loaded revolver tucked under the leather jacket. I shook my head as I realized that entrance could’ve gone badly, that I’d need a few pointers from him if I were going to go on like that.  
But first, I headed to the basement, where patients’ things were kept in a storage room that I unlocked with my badge. Rows of cardboard file boxes sat on metal shelves by patient number. I found his near the back with a good layer of dust recently disturbed. His suit pieces had been shoved back in with his shoes on top. I shook my head and clucked my tongue as I took everything out, quickly layered each suit item and wrapped it all around the shoes. I peaked out the door and saw no one in the bright hallway at first. I’d just made my way down it as one of the guards, a younger guy I didn’t know, rounded the corner. Shit, shit, shit! I kept the hood low as I moved to close the door, hoping he didn’t see me and that I could try to melt back into the shadows.

He shook his crew-cut head twice as he glanced over at me. “Um… Is that you? Are you Dr. Quinzel? Arkham said you weren’t supposed to come inside. Are… are you okay? Have you been threatened?” He took a step forward, his hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. Perfect.

Once he pulled back my hood, he stared wide-eyed and slack jawed at the hair dye and paint and said, “What the hell?”

I broke out into a grin and brought the hammer out of my front pocket, swinging hard upwards as his nose cracked. He fell down and I brought my hammer down again on his face, then held a finger to my lips as I smiled wide and dashed off. It felt a little cheesy, but blamed it on the adrenaline. I made a run for the high security wing on the seventh floor. Turned out I didn’t need to rush, as there was no one around. I wondered where all the security was. They were supposed to do rounds every hour.

Not a single guard was found as I crept onto the floor from the stairwell and headed for Mr. J’s cell. My security card still worked as the small light next to the badge scanner turned green and a large click sounded from the door. I set his clothes on a chair.

His body rocked back and forth as he startled awake as I turned the light on. “Wha… what’s this?” The swelling in his eye had gone down, but he was still covered in cuts and bruises.

I couldn’t help but pose: let the whole sweater jacket fall to the floor as I raised by right hip and held out my forearms out from my sides.

“Call me Harley Quinn.”

A smirk crossed his face for a second as he stood up and went stone-faced as he strolled right up to me. Was it too much? Was it all wrong? Weren't we running out of time? He grabbed my chin and then rested that hand across my throat. He squeezed firmly. I gulped, unable to help it as he studied my face, ran a hand up my arm, and then leaned to smell my hair.

He let out a sigh and then laughed something that turned hard. He crushed my hand in his and started to dash for the door.

My voice came out in a strangled whisper, “Wait! I brought you your clothes.”

He turned back to me, smiled genuine and wide like Christmas and Halloween happened at the same time and caught fire. “Well, why don’t you go stand guard outside and let me…”

“Sure.” I said, smiling back before I gave him by badge and slipped outside. I stood with the lime green cinderblock wall behind me and watched the hallway with my new gun in hand. I stood up straighter, fighting the urge to fidget or pace in the quiet. Where was everyone? They didn’t take all their breaks at the same time, did they?

The door beeped open and I felt a strong tug on my left ponytail. I glanced over to see a hand encased in a purple glove tugging it. I turn my head more and saw Mr. J in his full wardrobe with the black paint smudged around his eyes and the white paint applied hastily, along with a lighter shade of red on his lips and scars. He winked and grabbed my hand as he took off down the hallway. I muttered where my car was as a few security guards rounded the corner in a hurry. I raised my new gun and fired at both of them, beaming at the Joker’s shrieking laugh as both crumpled to the ground.

After a few more turns and a few more shots were fired towards security and nurses and orderlies alike. The emergency alarm went off, but no one seemed to care to confront us as they dashed the other way until we turned a corner and skid to a stop. Dr. Jeremiah Arkham stood staggering in the hallway, his hair messed up, his sleeves unbuttoned, but only one arm was rolled up as the other hand held a bottle of whisky. He stopped shuffling around, oblivious to the noise around him, and squinted before blinking twice at us.

“Ya… ya know, I’ve decided about my life… worked hard to get here and not just ‘cause of my fambly. You patients are all… ungrateful. I’m the one running things here and I’m the one no one listhtens to, I’m the one who’s oppressed!” His volume increased as he rambled.

I felt the Joker’s warm breath graze over the outer curve of my ear and my stomach trembled as I wanted more of that feeling. “Well… Whattya think, dollface?”

I looked deep into Mr. J’s eyes, not looking away for a second as I took out the loaded revolver from its holster and offered it to him. Then I rolled my eyes. “He’s a schmuck, puddin’.”

Just as Arkham was taking in another deep, wobbling breath to start another rant, Mr. J made a double click sound with his tongue and shot Arkham down. My ears rang, but otherwise I didn’t feel any twinge of remorse as the former director’s body left a skid mark of blood across the floor. Mr. J grabbed my hand again and I led on, taking a stairwell popular with the staff because it led right to the entrance to the staff parking lot. Three more security guards hunkered near the door to the lot entrance. Mr. J and I swapped glances before opening fire. One fell over right away while the other two returned fire and my heart pounded at the danger, the risk, but it quickly ended as they sought cover inside the building.

The night air smelled that much more crisp and deep and soaked into my lungs like a daydream. But halfway to my car, Mr. J took hold of both my hands hard and pivoted me so by back landed against the side of a nearby van.

“Why?” His voice barked, his face inches from mine. “Why break me out now after pleeeading with me not to? What do yooou expect to get out of this?” He licked his lips as he kept a dark gaze locked on me. I’m not gonna lie, that did something for me. Any sense of fear still hadn’t shown up.

For a second, my heart squeezed with something like pity that he’d never, ever would want. I hardened my gaze and kept it locked on him. “You don’t deserve to be locked up. I couldn’t stand the thought of you wasting away at Blackgate, all just because everyone else couldn’t—“

His red mouth made a small shushing sound as he held up a pointer finger and his gaze went to the dark, early morning sky around us. Silence, where there should’ve been sirens or something at that point. A small flapping noise, like thick fabric trying to stay still in a stiff wind, aimed right for us, and knocked the Joker away from me.

Batman rolled across the ground, but sprung upright with his arms up as he squared off against the Joker, identical to what he did on the roof. Didn’t this guy have another stance?

“You’re going back in, Joker.” I could barely understand him. Whatever voice modulator he used was too garbled. Did any one else notice this?

The Joker barked out a laugh as he pocketed the revolver. “And miss out on whatever’s going to happen next? Face it, yooou’re more wanted by the police than I am. And I have more friends than you do.” He emphasized the last point by tilting his head sideways in my direction.

Batman let out a growl and swung out, punching the Joker so hard he fell to the ground, cackling. I took a step forward, unable to help it. Batman turned towards me and dropped his voice, trying to make it soft.

“Doctor, you’re not past redemption. There is still hope, you just have to choose to believe it. I can help you find help. You’ve been brainwashed and—” He roared like a congested cat as the Joker had pulled out a switchblade from somewhere on his suit and had sliced a section of his ankle.

The Joker pried himself upright, keeping the knife in front of him the whole while. “Don’t get distracted by my little doll, Bats. I did no swaying, no threatening. She made the decision to show up on her own.” He laughed and lunged towards him as they resumed fighting.

I rolled my eyes in spite of blushing at his words, as the police were probably on their way, if not right around the corner. I patted down my own weapons, holding my gun in my right hand and the hammer in my left. I huffed out a breath as I calculated the rumored amount of Kevlar the Batman allegedly wore as he kept trying to literally pin the Joker to the ground. I aimed towards Batman’s lower back, as close to his kidneys as I could and pulled the trigger. This sent him back tumbling away from the Joker and gave me a second to change weapons. Bat-brain was still in a daze, from pain or perceived betrayal—I didn’t dwell on it—as I brought the hammer down across his face. (You’d think he would’ve covered his lower jaw, too.) I smacked down again hard on his neck and chest and arms and I hoped he wasn’t playing possum. As I swung up, The Joker took a hard hold on my arm and pulled back to stand up, though I stumbled. He kept his free hand firmly on my hip as he studied my face. His nose bled profusely, but he cracked a wide smile.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises.” He pulled me in quick and kissed me hard, only breaking off when sirens started to wail in the distance.

I sheathed my gun and grabbed his hand to dash off to my car. I had my impulse sale purchase stashed away in case we lost one of the guns. I slid that shotgun from underneath the back seat and set it across his lap before I started the car. He made an appreciative groan and loaded shells from the glove compartment as I peeled out and headed right for the exit gate. I didn’t slow down as I plowed through it, as it was the only section of the fence without cyclone wire. The sirens started to get louder as Mr. J shouted for me to take a right at the next corner. We were deep in the Narrows, but needed to get off the island. I started to see red and blue lights flicker in my rearview mirror when he shot out my back window. I couldn’t help but flinch at the sound.

“Oops.” He said with a wide smile and tilted his head as his voice went sing-song, “Was I not supposed to break that?”

I shrugged and threw back a wide smile of my own. “I’m not bronzing this.”

He cackled as he peered back and as a few squad cars came closer, let a few more shots loose; large shells jumping all over to the floor of the car. I sped faster, but Mr. J yelled for me to slow down as he pointed behind us. I shook my head and pointed ahead.

One of Gotham’s many steel girder bridges was about a block ahead and so far, no one started to lift it. But then, if they knew two clown criminals were trying to leave the Narrows in the early morning, why would they give the effort or try to play hero? Yet, I didn’t want to chance it as I pressed the acceleration down and let the car rise up to sixty, sixty-five, and felt a bit of a lift as we cleared the middle of the bridge as it indeed had started to rise. I’d been right. Mr. J cackled and roared with delight as we made it across the bridge and up towards the west part of mid-town, straight through working class Burney and right through the University district. I slowed down only slightly as we reached a more rough section of Camden Hill, where it ran into Amusement Mile. People jokingly referred to it as Amusement Half-Mile, as it gradually fell into decay in the decades following the Wayne murders. Up the street was a worn-down complex that used to be a casino and an arcade and past that was a bunch of warehouses. All of those particular ones were near the tracks for freight trains that would’ve also been leaving downtown for points south.

Mr. J directed me towards the middle back portion of those warehouses and told me to pull over. He crouched in front of the back license plate, about to pry it off with a large switchblade when I let out an “oooh” for him to wait. I opened the truck and plucked out my duffle bag before quietly setting the trunk lid back down.

“Smart.” He muttered, “On both counts.” He made quick work of both license plates and pulled on my hand to follow him.

He wove back and forth between buildings that grew smaller and smaller as we reached the back of the lot. He threw the plates into a trashcan, letting them rattle as we jogged on. He pulled my arm harder as he ran to a small, squat, brick building that looked like it’d been built in the 60’s. He flipped a rock by the door over and removed a key duct taped to it to let us inside. The air went silent and a bit musty. All I could hear was our breathing trying to catch up.

“You’ve been a pleasant surprising turn of events.” He dropped the knife and the key as he took my face into both of his hands and kissed me hard.

My knees buckled, but I stepped forward, deepening that kiss as my hands went to his shoulders. Every single nerve ending and inch of my skin wanted to press into every inch of him. Other than this kiss, I still had no idea if he wanted the same. But I wasn’t about to walk away, even after he eventually backed up, clearing his throat.

He patted the sides of a beaten-up desk and whistled something happy when he found a small cell phone, then raised his eyebrows when it turned on. As he brought up the phone’s only contact, the battery was still pretty low.

He kept his voice near a growl as whoever on the other line picked up. “Yeah. It’s me. The timeline got pushed up a liiiitle early, but never mind. I need you to come by the place, where you last dropped off that thing…. Yes, that place. And bring room for a friend of mine.” He ended the call without waiting for confirmation and sat back against the desk.

“Sooo, we just wait for someone to pick us up and hope they don’t rat out on us?” I asked.

Mr. J rolled his eyes as his head lolled back and forth from side to side, but the gesture came off as more of an older sibling dealing with an obnoxious question from a younger one. “It’s like I said before, this requires careful placement of information and action before the fun begins. Besides, if everyone ratted everyone else out all the time, there’d be no work as interesting as this. Everyone would get bored… and broke, as they claim. No… No one wants to miss out on something as interesting as this, Harley. Which brings me to my question that you never really answered…. Why are you really here?”

I gulped, unable to help it. “I… I couldn’t just pretend to just live my life the way I had before, pretendin’ that I could fit in; especially after our talks. Honestly, I’ve barely slept since the night Batman brought you back to the asylum. I couldn’t picture you locked up in…”

A loud crack broke the still air and my cheek stung as I staggered a few steps back. The Joker’s arm was mid-curled across his chest as he frowned deep and unbelieving, his eyes narrowed.

I couldn’t believe it, that he couldn’t believe what I said. But then again, if he had, he probably wouldn’t have been alive. “If you think this display of dominance is going be the definition of things, you’re sorely mistaken, puddin’.” I ground out the last few words, hoping they’d sink in.

“Is that right?” His tone remained even as he took a step forward.

I grabbed his coat by the lapels, set my right foot back, and used my body weight as a fulcrum to send him reeling into the wall, making the neglected framed awards rattle. I kept my right forearm pressed hard against his collarbone as I stepped in close. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He looked down at me with narrowed eyes, but only for a minute and he started to laugh a genuine low and rasping laugh. “I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

We stood there, staring at each other and my heart pounded and my feet felt like they were floating even though I stood still. So that’s what other people were talking about. I didn’t back off until a black SUV pulled up in front of the building. A younger man in a sports jacket jogged out and kept his body shielded by the glass door.

“All prepped to go, boss.” He said and stood up straighter when he noticed me. He made duck lips and I rolled my eyes. “Oh, who’s this?”

The guy went cross-eyed as Mr. J unsheathed a knife—his favorite one, the one everyone thought was a potato peeler at first—and shoved it in this guy’s face as he tutted.

“Get the car running.” He licked the back of his molars as he kept a tight glare on him.

The guy nodded once and ran off. Mr. J looked back at me and scoffed, then gestured with his arm for me to pick up my bag. As we neared the door, he opened it and kept his other arm across my lower back as we went to the car and I climbed in. He climbed in right behind me and slung his left arm over my shoulders while he gave the guy some directions.

My nerves were giddy as my stomach tumbled. My hands flexed across my knees and I never wanted that moment to end. But all that adrenaline that coursed through my system the past two days thinned out. I turned my head to hide a yawn behind a hand. Mr. J noticed, because he tightened the arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I laid my head on his shoulder, my hair falling behind us as I let the weight of my skull settle more and more as he spoke low into his cell phone. His suit jacket smelled like dust, but also cordite and old, sweetened coffee. I fought the urge to bury my nose into the fabric. I swore I’d rest my eyes for just a second.


	9. Sweetest Perfection

My head sagged forward and my body jolted as my eyes flew open. I was no longer in the car, but in a darkened bedroom somewhere drafty. I’d been propped up on one half of a queen-sized bed covered with a scratchy, dark gray blanket. The Joker sat next to me cross-legged and made a small hum of acknowledgement that I was awake. He pointed towards a TV on the other side of the bedroom.

“That little drive of yours out of the Narrows wasn’t any small thing. I’ve been watching this for hours.”

My eyes widened as I leaned forward. The news showed what looked like twenty police cars chasing us through the Narrows, concluding with the back end of my now-abandoned car leaving the ground just as I got us to the other side of that rising bridge.

I sank back as the footage changed to a live feed of Commissioner Gordon giving a press conference in the lobby of city hall. The criminal known as the Batman had intercepted a call from the asylum to the GCPD, interfering with police business as they worked to apprehend the criminal known as the Joker; causing the later criminal to escape with an accomplice. Mr. J poked the side of my arm and stage whispered, **_that means you_**. I giggled. Gordon’s tone shifted to something softer as he mentioned that Dr. Quinzel was also missing at this time and if anyone knew her whereabouts or had seen her, to please contact the GCPD and ask for Gordon directly. They just wanted to make sure she was okay and to ask her a few questions.

“Yeah,” I muttered, “I’d like to know where that bitch ran off to, too.” Mr. J guffawed a short, bark of a laugh.

But then GCN switched their programming, showing reporters interviewing asylum staff and I had a thought that Arkham was going to be pissed. But then I remembered that he was dead. So who was running things? They even managed to dig up a few of my more toxic med school classmates before… I glanced at my watch and saw it was close to four in the afternoon.

They all said predictable, terrible, blatantly untrue things about me. That I blackmailed Arkham. That I promised I’d sleep with him if he gave me the Joker’s case. That I slept with the Joker during therapy sessions. That I was hysterical and yelled at the staff and was never going to be that competent of a doctor anyway. That Arkham fired me the night before for getting too close to the Joker and I went home crazy. That I slept with most of the teachers at med school instead of, you know, workin’ my ass off. At least Joan said as she tried to shield herself from the reporters that maybe he’d threatened me and said nothing of the night Batman brought him back.

I groaned a bit and sat back on the pillows piled up behind me. “This is stupid. This whole town is just… stupid. They’re just making it all about sex with no proof. We should go back and blow up the rest of the place. No one’s made the connection of me being gone and this accomplice of yours.”

Mr. J’s face lit up and angled both thumbs and forefingers into a box that he then peered through, as a bit of his tongue peeked out of his mouth. “I have a sudden… inspiration. A debut. Let’s bring Harley Quinn to the world.”

I crinkled my nose as I smiled and let out a small “Yeah.”

He had me go refresh my paint in the small bathroom just off to the left side of the bed. I sat on the bed criss-crossing my legs, but then took off my boots to get more comfortable as he brought out a small camera. Everyone was going to see my red and black striped socks and I let out a small giggle. No one was probably going to recognize what was on my feet because it wouldn’t have fit their interpretation of the world. They were probably going to imagine shackles or iron boxes. They were probably going to focus on the roundness of my stomach or my thighs.

The Joker held up three bare fingers streaked with paint and I nodded. Two and then one as he pointed to me.

“Am I holding you hostage?” A small whine came in from the camera and my best guess was he was zooming in as he leaned forward a bit.

“Nope.” I held up my wrists to show they were hand-cuff free. “I’m having the time of my life, Mr. J.”

He slowly knelt next to the bed as he talked, keeping his camera on me. “But I’m sure the people at home are wondering, how you came to sit here, free to roam, when I’m sure most of this town would have expected knife or gun-related things to have happened to you by now.” He licked the inside of his cheek.

“Well, it started with us talking. For nearly two and a half months. I was assigned to you even though those in charge knew I was too new to the field to really do that and succeed.”

“I do appreciate your candor, doll. Did they tell you that you could take a pass on talking to lil’ ol’ me?”

“Nope.” I said, popping the P. “It was pretty strongly hinted that if I didn’t, I was gonna to loose my stipend. They tried to scare me with ending up homeless if I didn’t do what they said. Then they wanted answers. They wanted to dig into you with me doing all the dirty work, like I’d never accomplished anything else in my life, ever. It… it took forever to get them to back off.”

“They sound like they’re the weak ones, sugar. They shouldn’t have underestimated you.”

In an instant, I forgot he was still filming and I let out a small smile. “You’re right, puddin’. You were right about a lot of stuff. How everyone doesn’t acknowledge the truth when it’s in front of them. How they’re only as good as they think they’re getting away with. How the truth can be so much more damaging.”

“Astute on that last point. I don’t want to ruin any future surprise, but there’s a lot this town doesn’t know about the truth, about what’s being kept from them by people who claim to know better, who claim to protect them.”

I couldn’t help but tilt my head. “What truth, Mr. J?”

“All in good time, dollface. I’m glad you could make it out here.” He reached out and took a hold of my chin. “Why don’t you tell the world who you really are?”

I smiled wide as he let go and my gaze drifted directly towards the camera as I couldn’t help but preen a little as I turned my profile. “Why, everyone can call me Harley Quinn.”

I smiled wider as he cackled loud and dropped the camera as he turned it off. He grabbed both sides of my head and yanked out my hair ties, getting snagged a bit here and there, but kept his gaze right locked onto me.

“I mean it, sugar. It’s good to see you finally leave that narrow life behind.” Once my hair was fully loose, he leaned forward and kissed hard; lips and teeth and tongue colliding. I moved my hands up the fabric of his coat as he drew himself closer onto the bed, hovering over me. His lips moved down further, over my neck as he left sharp bites when he wasn’t scraping his teeth over my skin and my head swooned. He stopped as I started to push off the coat. He pinned my hands down above my head with his own.

With a sneer, he asked, “Are you really ready to stick around?”

I nodded, keepin’ my eyes locked on his. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have burned my former life to the ground.”

He broke out a wide, genuine smile and dipped back down to kiss me again, his hands moving to my sides and hips as my own went under his shirt and up his back.


	10. Final Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the beginning of the end. I found myself doing quite a bit of research on what cell phones and so on that were available in 2009. It’s like... I was there, but I don’t remember. (Classic.)

The next morning, I changed clothes: black crewneck top with red jeans. For someone who hated having red clothes, I had quite a few pieces. We reapplied our respective face paints and jostled each other back and forth to get a good glimpse in the mirror. He took a hold of my hand hard, like we were still on the run, and held me close next to him as we quickly marched through what turned out to be a foreclosed house. The next rooms were storage, holding weapons or other tactical gear or bits of clothes to be used as costumes or extra suit pieces. At the bottom of the wooden stairs was a living room packed with henchmen sitting around a table or near the TV or just filling up about every other spare room. 

I tried to hide a gulp as his arm around me tightened even more, crashing me into him as his free arm swung out. “As you’ve probably saw on the news earlier and that you’re about to see on the news tonight, this is Harley Quinn. She’s mine and quite dangerous on her own.” 

He whisked me off and normally, such a display would offend me as it stank of ownership, but I recognized the need to be seen as untouchable, a real threat. We stopped near a motley mix of cars and he turned to me, looming. My knees felt weak again.

“We’re going to go rob a bank. Tomorrow. I want you along.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “But.. but I’m still new. I busted you out, sure. But… And.”

He rolled his eyes and kicked at a flattened pop can mashed into the dirt. “Yes, you sprung me free out sooner than I would have myself and you could get used to using different guns and sparing and knife work, but you have enthusiasm. Your aim is sufficient and you drive fast. Plus, being new could work in your favor.” His tone went a bit singsong. “You have no bad habits and would be willing to listen and not just dash in to do…” He swung his arms out as he made a mock pout. He dug around in his pocked and pressed something small and metallic into my grip as he talked. “You just need to trust you are already on your way to what you need to know so far. Besides, I’m not letting you go that easy.” 

When I opened my hand, there was a folded up knife that after I unfolded it, a blade dangled downwards as two black, perforated handles spread sideways. A butterfly knife. He grinned wide as I looked back at him and he didn’t move a muscle for the longest time. He then showed me a few simple flicks before he moved on. He came back out what must’ve been a few hours later, flanked by two men. The stout but tall guy with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow was Donovan and the other guy that was even skinnier than Mr. J with a beanie cap low over his eyebrows and thin eyeglasses was Stiches. 

“No time like the present to start learning, Harls. Donovan and Stitches are about to go off on a little reconnaissance. They’re going to check on a few details on a few buildings downtown. Go along… be a little sponge.” He waved the other two off, but grabbed my arm just as I turned around. He kept his voice low. “If, uh, they give you any trouble, just use your little present, huh?” He winked.

I smiled, my lips curled off to the side as I kept my chin down, but my gaze tight on him. “Sure thing, Mr. J.”

He nodded and picked up his cell phone again, mumbling into it when whoever was on the other side picked up.

I jumped in the backseat of a small, lime green pickup truck that looked like it started rusting soon after it was made in the 70’s and then stopped right after. The drive was quiet as Donovan drove us out of the massive neighborhood that was apart of Gotham’s southeastern working class neighborhoods. It was easy to forget you were still in Gotham until you faced north and saw the tall buildings of downtown far off, but still looming close enough that you could to pick out details of certain skyscrapers.

It was in the middle of the day and the sun bright enough that I wished I had my sunglasses. The highway was pretty empty on the three lanes of each side. There was hardly any traffic until we were near the downtown exits.

Stitches turned around from the front passengers’ seat. “So… what’s with you and the boss? Are you our co-worker now?”

Donovan shot a look at him. “Christ, Stitches, keep it to yourself. You better not let the boss hear you talking like that. You’ll have to excuse him, Miss… He’s new.”

“Call me Harley.” I said, “Everyone will. So what’s with you and having this job?”

Stitches shrugged like I’d asked something obvious. “There’s a two year wait to get into Gotham University and I waited three years just to get into the community college. Barely any other jobs. I’d like to not loose my knowledge and skills in the meantime.”

Donovan sighed and rubbed the side of his face before taking one of the downtown exit ramps and turned left at the corner of a white brick building. “Yeah, same… kinda. Not too many jobs out there. Work’s more dangerous than most others, but it pays a hell of a lot better than most.”

We went around several banks near the stock exchange. Stitches brought out one of those new computer pads and opened some app he announced that he designed. Donovan rolled his eyes as he muttered that it better help with the job. The thinner man tapped on the pad and showed where camera signals had been traced. Donovan parked the truck a half-block away from one of those banks and took out a pair of binoculars.

“Yeah… well, there’s three over there for sure. Just like last time.”

We ended up spending the next hour double-checking the presence of cameras and hidden sensors with Stitches’ app. I kept my eyes on the building itself and noticed some banks had guards walking outside, patrolling, while others didn’t.

I mentioned this and Donovan said, “Good catch. Some banks have their own security that’s not as obvious. Those are mob banks.”

“Still?” I said, “I thought they were all taken out last year?”

Donovan shrugged, like as if to say what can you do? Stitches snickered, “They’re like weeds. They’ll just pop up wherever they can find the easy money.”

By the time we got back, the backyard of the hideout was shadowed by the houses around it. The guys went inside without another word and I followed, observant for whoever else was there and delighted to find the kitchen empty. I found a lone bowl in one of the cabinets and an open box of cereal on the counter that wasn’t stale. As I ate, I noticed that a lot of the other houses surrounding us were boarded up. 

By the time the shadows around the backyard darkened and became permanent, a bunch of henchmen in clown masks started to stream through the house and out into the backyard. I couldn’t tell if Donovan or Stitches was in on this. They all seemed to ignore me, except for a few who glanced over but quickly continued their walk over. That video must’ve just been broadcast. Mr. J came right up to me and set my hand on his arm before he led me out without a single word to the black SUV that had brought us there. I took my cue and also didn’t say anything as we were followed by a pick-up truck and a grey sedan. We headed downtown, blending in with the traffic heading in for the second shift as the other side of the highway was packed with people headed home; who weren’t free enough to imagine another life.

Once downtown, the other two cars split off in other directions as we circled one of the huge, marble column studded banks. The SUV went around to the back, to sit idle in a narrow alleyway. Mr. J just stared ahead as he kept a different cell phone in his hand. This one had a dark blue case. I wondered if anyone would spot us until the phone went off with a shrill twee ringtone. 

“Yeah.” Mr. J answered and I could hear a fine, tinny voice almost shout that the silent alarm was intercepted. That a couple of guys were working the front and that they’d have the back freed up in ETA of two minutes.

Mr. J ended the call and muttered, “Come on.” before he opened his side of the car. I followed as the driver also exited the car, but stayed beside it. Mr. J and I stood next to a metal door with no handle. A loud click sounded and Mr. J used the back of a hammer that had long, curved prongs to pry the door open. He muttered for me to stay behind him, so I followed him down a florescent-lit hallway to an opened vault. I heard some shouts and gunfire from what was likely the front of the bank.

“Don’t mind them, doll.” Mr. J said as another goon in a clown mask with red hair standing straight off the top opened a vault the size of a refrigerator inside a small office. “The real action is back here. The rest is just for show.”

The henchman scooped money into a large duffle bag as Mr. J stood watch near the door with a gun out. Mr. J reached into a corner of the safe’s shelf and removed a USB key, slipping it into his coat’s inner pocket with a lopsided smile. As we scurried towards the back, Mr. J tapped on a group text and sent out one single word: BOOM.

“If they set their phones on silent, I can’t help them then.” He cackled as we came outside. The SUV sat still. 

“Where’s the driver?” I asked and a figure in black dropped down from one of the fire escapes above.

A primal instinct to recoil back shook me, but this figure seemed a little too short to be the looming, patronizing figure who ran Mr. J into the ground at the asylum’s employee parking lot. Another one popped up and took a meaty swing towards Mr. J, who dropped the hammer as he took out one of his knives, laughing hard before making a swing. I saw another creep pop up and couldn’t help but notice the gear they wore were a lot nicer than just sports padding painted black. I swung out hard with the hammer and cracked into the third creep’s jaw, making him turn his head. He groaned and swore with an unmodified, un-grizzled voice. I swung towards his knee when I heard Mr. J shout and someone grabbed me hard from behind. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, and bending my head around as I hoped to bite somewhere hard or kick or scratch. A thick black fabric went over my head and I was thrown into what felt like the back of a delivery van.


	11. Turn Around Bright Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof! Here we are, the last chapter. I thought it’d go kind of fast, but it feels like it went faster. I’m trying to brainstorm a sequel or even a bunch of one-offs, so cross your fingers.

I sat hunched, my left leg folded underneath me as I kept my right leg bent at the knee, like I was getting ready to jump up at any moment even though I was leaning against the side of the van. Every muscle in my body was tense as the van pitched and swayed every now and then. No one spoke to me. No one tried to touch me until the van stopped and heavy, gloved hands pried me ever so gently out of the back, but marched me across what felt like cracked and damaged asphalt. A huge part of me feel like I’d failed him as someone pulled my hands behind me and put handcuffs on a little too tight.

The mask was jerked away and I blinked at the light, even though the sky had become overcast and we were outside some warehouse. I was surrounded by four Batman-wannabes who all couldn’t bother to hide their voices. You’d think they’d try, even if they weren’t going to sound like they smoked an entire chimney. They all wore various pieces of military surplus or SWAT gear.

One of them, the tallest one, said, “We should bring her to the police.”

Another one wore what looked like different pieces of flack jackets welded together and the only concession to looking like a Bat was the cape. “We should kill her, we send a message about—”

“No, dingus.” The tallest one pushed him back hard. “You’re starting to sound like him.” He nodded his head towards me before pointing at his bro. “We still believe that even if Batman maybe killed a few times, we don’t. Like I said before, we don’t really know what happened to Dent. The police were just guessing.”

Then he took a hold of my cuffed hands and walked me into the warehouse. The inside was dark until we got to a large storage area where half the roof had slumped down at one point. I was uncuffed and told to wait around there. Three more Batman wannabes milled around the open part of the roof. I couldn’t tell if they had weapons or not. There were a few other people scattered around, trying to keep to their own business: three vagrants trying to nap under an awning, two toughs who looked like they got lost on their way to a street fight paced around back and forth, and what looked like two former patients. I recognized their faces, even though they wore street clothes, and I pulled up my hood, hoping I had just enough facepaint on that they wouldn’t recognize me. These wannabes were targeting the same people as the Batman and I was willing to bet that they didn’t think of why.

Then I saw off in the distance, a familiar face sat on a raised platform away from everyone else as if he were there to make observations for a consult or hired to sneer at everyone. “Dr. Jonathan Crane, I presume.”

He tilted his chin up into some imperial tilt as he gave a thin, smarmy smile that didn’t reach his icy blue eyes. “The late Dr. Quinzel, in the flesh. Did your paramour dump you already?”

I scoffed. “Didn’t ya see the video?” I glanced at my watch. “It came out a few hours ago and should still be on GCN’s site until the Commissioner tells them to knock it off.”

Dr. Crane rolled his eyes, saying nothing. 

“So how about breaking out of here? You could see it for yourself, then.” I nudged his outstretched foot with my hand.

He sighed as he looked around and above us. “They have heart, I give them that. But no real know-how or intel. They just seem content to hold us here for now, until they deliver us to the police, I imagine.” He turned his face towards me. “If I help you, Dr. Quinzel and if we do end up in police custody, my advice to you would be to beg for mercy. Play dumb. Say you were swayed or say you were threatened. Maybe you’ll spend ten years in Arkham instead of for the rest of your life.” His stupid, thin smile disappeared as he kept staring at me like it was all supposed to mean something. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t think you quite have the conviction… the proverbial ‘bones’ that’s required to make it in this calling.”

I rolled my eyes and then tilted my chin down as I stared right back at him. I leaned forward on the platform as a sharp smile spread across my face. “Oh, but Jonathan, I did have one in me last night.” 

I threw my head back and cackled so hard that I woke up one of the vagrants. Crane’s eye twitched as he looked around at anything but me, wincing like I’d put a booger-flavored gum in his mouth. 

He cleared his throat, “Yes… well. I’m afraid you’re on your own for this one, Dr. Quinzel. Those brutes took my mask.”

I made a mock pouting face as I pat his foot and walking away. At least I didn’t need any extra bullshit equipment to get things done. I may have lacked depth of technique at that time, but I knew how to improvise. I walked around the open space as if I were just trying to take up time, but kept my eyes peeled for anything those Bat-wannabes overlooked. In the back, near a corner that was still covered by the roof was a nearly two-foot long pipe leaning against a gurter. I gave it a few, cursory swings and kept it dangling near my right leg as I strolled back. 

Two of the wannabes came in, to lecture or take people away, I didn’t know and didn’t care. I only turned my head away to give Crane a wink. He stared at me dumbfounded for once until I ran towards the Batmen and socked one on the side of his neck, making him sprawl against the ground so hard a gun fell out of his hip holster. Stupid. 

I scooped it up as the other Batman said, “Hey, you can’t do that.” And aimed it at his torso before pulling the trigger. I didn’t stop to see if I killed him or not as the other people held captive screamed. I had a burning urge to yell at Crane if I had the conviction yet, but had a deeper instinct that time was of the essence. The two toughs from earlier leapt on some of the other Batmen. I charged forward through the rest of the warehouse to the front, running in zig-zags that I tried to keep to no pattern as I kept the pipe up like a bat. Heh. There were a few more grabbers, but they were either far away enough for me to duck as I kept running or I belted them out of my way.  
Just my luck, there was a gray sedan out front, the door open as the engine ran. Keeping the pipe with me, I jumped in and put the car in drive before shutting the door. I heard a loud “Hey” as I put the car in reverse to make a quick turn around and crouched down as gunshots pocked through the air. The back window cracked once. As I sped away, another one of the wannabes made a run towards my car and I don’t know what he was expectin’ exactly, as the side of the car hit his arm, making him fall away. 

I sped down the street, aware I was in the warehouse district near the docks. Thankful, it was too bright out for professional bats and as I scanned through the radio stations, no one mentioned a bank robbery gone wrong except for one station. I felt like I was driving blind, trying to pinpoint where I was exactly while trying not to panic and instead figure out how to find Mr. J until the inside of my jacket buzzed. Thankfully those idiots forgot to give me the full pat down. 

I made a turn before scooping around the inside pocket, hoping to make my way away from the water and towards downtown if I couldn’t make it to midtown. The phone buzzed in my hand and my thumb skimmed over the green button as I kept an eye out for cops.

“Puddin’, is that you?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate.

“Yeah, pumpkin, it’s me. A little bird just told me about your escapade. Gotta say, I’m impressed for your first time going off the rails and you picking it back up with little training. Go to the corner of Cicero and 148th.” He hung up without another word and I set the phone next to me on the passenger’s seat.

I headed north on the highway, skirting past downtown as I saw exit signs for the Palisades and for Illinois. Was this a test? That I would run when things got hard? With him, you were never sure. But I wasn’t runnin’ and I wanted to prove I was sure. 148th was a long boulevard that was created a hundred years ago to give the elite a pretty commute from the Upper West Side to their offices in Old Gotham. But like most of Gotham, it was full of dingy buildings laced with sharp decorative features and gargoyles, small bodegas huddled on the corners, and thin Elm trees trying to grow in the boulevard’s medium. And this was still a pretty nice, upper-middle class part of town. I turned right and near Cicero, I saw one huge warehouses of fading red brick. Did he move the hideout already?

I glanced at my burner phone and saw a short text, “R u here?”

I texted back, “On the corner. Where r u?”

He pinged back a message that was a series and lefts and rights deeper into the neighborhood, ending with instructions to park outside a 777. Well, I did just that and outside this boarded up tailor shop in white limestone, surrounded by more red brick buildings, was the black SUV. It looked familiar, but my stomach prickled and I worried it was some kind of trap by a rival upcoming mob boss or one of the goons didn’t like that a “girl” was around. 

But I slid out of the car anyway, keeping the keys tight in my hands. I dropped them as Mr. J ran out of the SUV and before I could blink, had his gloved hands hard against the back of my scalp as he dove in for a deep, scorching kiss that felt like it was everywhere, like I was being devoured. I latched onto his forearms and did my best not to fall to my knees.

I could feel his smile form across my face before he pulled back, just barely an inch from me and kept his voice so low it growled. 

“You haven’t seen all the footage yet of our little video.”

He brought out another phone and scrolled through a news feed from the Gotham Gazette, showing all the pundits getting in a twist over someone daring to align with the Joker, especially a female someone. There were a few op-ed pieces that this was feminism at work, that women didn’t have to be nice anymore to do what they wanted. But mostly the reaction was a lot of clutching of pearls over how I must’ve been brainwashed or threatened or whatever. Stockholm Syndrome wasn’t really a thing, by the way, but I didn’t expect anyone to really get it.

His hot breath grazed over my ear and a bit down my neck. “You’re the one for me, sugar.”

I broke out into a wide, hot grin as I let out a moan that turned into a laugh. He laughed something throaty and genuine before he grabbed by hand and we ran for the SUV. Yeah, I knew even then he was probably manipulating my emotions so I’d stay, but I didn’t care. What exactly did I have to go back to if I’d left him? After such a long time, I had someone who at least gave some kind of crap and who wanted me to succeed. And I was finally living free.


End file.
